Watchman, What of the Night?
by winter156
Summary: Myka is thrust into a situation that leads her to certain truths about who she is to Helena, and who Helena is to her.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I neither own these characters nor am I making any profit from this story.

Spoilers: Assumes some events of season 2 and season 3

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Myka glanced at her clock. She flopped on her back and released a frustrated breath. Sleep eluded her; she had tossed and turned all night. Eyes closed, breathing regulated, she attempted to clear her mind. Her brow furrowed in impatience as her thoughts scattered and refused to be reined in. "Well, it was certainly worth a try," she scoffed as she opened her eyes.

Shadows danced along her bedroom ceiling in an intricate pattern as the wind gently blew across the leaves of the tree outside her window. She studied the shadows for a moment as her mind drifted. The enormity of what they were undertaking come morning was beginning to wear on her. She could not shake the sense of dread and foreboding. Walking into an ancient Warehouse that held artifacts that could wreak mass destruction was at the forefront of that dread.

But, despite the imminent and very real danger of their mission, there was something indefinable that niggled at the back of her mind. Something not related at all with artifacts and destruction, but dangerous nonetheless. Something that was preventing her from sleeping. Something that sent a chill down her spine. Something that made her palms sweaty. Something that caused her breathing to hitch and become erratic. Something that made her heart beat faster.

"Helena," she breathed out reverently. Her mind flashed enticing images of Helena: Helena's predatory smile; Helena undressing; Helena's very naked, very exquisite curves; Helena stalking toward her; Helena's face and body in the throes of passion. And to this amalgam of images rolling before her eyes, Myka's memory provided sensory accompaniment. She could feel Helena's heat as if she was physically near; she could hear the husky timbre of her bedroom voice caressing her ear; she could smell Helena's unique scent and arousal.

Myka turned her head and groaned when she noticed it was only three minutes since she had last checked the time. Tossing aside the covers- in the suddenly too hot room- she sat up, her sock-clad feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. She hesitated a moment, biting her lip unconsciously, as she decided where exactly she was intent on heading.

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><p>Helena stood staring out of her bedroom window into the quiet night, the full moon bathing her features in a soft, pale light. Looking out into the area surrounding the grounds, Helena marveled that only a mere century had transpired between her past and this present. At times, it seemed that nothing of her world remained. Nothing except herself. And she was nothing more than a remnant of an archaic time: an artifact waiting to be shelved.<p>

She ran a frustrated hand through her hair as her thoughts evaded her self control. Acclimating to this time, this place, was not as simple a task as she portrayed. With the grace and ware withal garnered from her upbringing, she did manage to flow seamlessly into things she only ever thought possible in her imagination. Solely on the strength of her character and enigmatic personality, she stood unflinchingly erect against the onslaught of sensation and the erratically rapid pace of life in a world seemingly millennia away from her own.

Yet, due to her insatiable curiosity, she maintained a childlike innocence despite the leprous stains on her heart and soul. She stared with wonder at the technologies and knowledge accumulated in her slumber from the flow of time. But, minute hesitation was present in almost everything she did. It was a as if expecting a reprimand for her forthrightness as a female in a world where men ruled. It showed so much of her character that she did not balk at facing the world even though she expected to be corrected at every turn.

She was headstrong and stubborn. She moved with lithe grace and a certain confidence given to her, not only from her upbringing, but by the very virtue of her character. Had she grown up a peasant she would still walk and conduct herself with utmost confidence. Her exuberance and innocence were most readily seen when she experienced a new marvel in the world upon which she had been thrust. Excitement filled her at the prospect of such discovery and she saw wonder in everything. She even sometimes believed there was nothing that she could not do.

That, while all being true, served to cover the fact that she was grievously injured. The grace and confidence that allowed her to face the world unflinchingly only covered the fact that she was walking wounded. She carried a festering wound upon her soul that she covered with wit and intrigue and inventiveness and confidence and the whole force of her personality. But, when night fell, and she retired to the privacy of her chambers, the wound festered with anger, bitterness, regret, and blame. The cracks visible only in the darkness of her isolation, deepened as time wore on.

Unconsciously twisting the ring she wore on her right hand, Helena's thoughts turned to her anchor: Myka Bering. Leaning her forehead against the cool glass of her window, Helena released a deep sigh. Her thoughts ran in so many different directions concerning the woman that she had to physically shake herself from getting too caught up in memories of a green gaze that had followed and haunted her through a century of time.

Pushing off the window, she turned and quietly made her way from her room. At the threshold she paused and considered where she was going.

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><p>Myka stepped into the library where the only light source was a fire burning brightly in the fireplace. Silhouetted against the armchair near the flames was the woman who haunted her waking and sleeping moments. Heart beating in excitement, she made her way to the chair opposite the woman who was obviously lost in her troubled thoughts.<p>

Myka watched Helena for a while attempting to gauge what the other woman needed. She knew some of her thoughts probably revolved around what they would face in Warehouse 2. Myka did not know how to reassure Helena concerning that. Myka, herself, was still worried about what they might encounter at the ancient Warehouse. But she inherently knew what was bothering Helena was not the mission they had to face tomorrow. If pressed to guess, Myka would assume what was troubling Helena was something much closer to her heart.

Myka continued her silent study of the other woman. Her eyes caressed every plane of Helena's face, yet the woman had not turned to acknowledge Myka's presence. Myka did not mind, however, she was content to let her eyes drink the woman in for now. She wanted to erase the frown off her face and banish the weariness from her eyes. Her heart ached to see Helena happy.

"Didn't you have servants start the fires in your home?" Myka asked after an interminable amount of time had passed (a smile in her voice and on her face to let Helena know she was just teasing). "How do you even know how to build a fire?"

Cocking her head in thought, while still staring into the fire, Helena waited a moment to answer. "I suppose being a Warehouse agent taught me more than I thought." She finally turned her intense gaze to Myka. The emotion swirling in her dark eyes gave Myka pause.

She kept her eyes locked on Helena's as she moved to the edge of the armchair until her knees touched Helena's. She needed the physical connection to bolster her courage for what she was about to say. "Helena, I know that we haven't really talked about this," she waved her hand, vaguely indicating the space between them, "thing we're doing. I mean, if it's even a thing at all considering we only did it once and…" She shook her head at the inadequacy of that statement and the fact that she was rambling. She hated to ramble. She blew out a breath and pulled her thoughts together. "What I'm trying to say is that I am here for you. And, trust me, I know my timing is lousy. We are heading into a dangerous situation tomorrow, and I should have done this long before now," she glanced up to look Helena in the eye as she spoke her next words. "But I want you to know that I'm here for more than just sex. I want to be the person you turn to, if you want me to be."

Helena broke eye contact and shifted her gaze back to the fire burning in the hearth. Myka had spoken words that could not be retracted. With a few simple sentences, she had left the decision of how to proceed entirely in the hands of Helena. Silence stretched between them.

"Why did you leave that night?" Helena asked a hint of hurt in her voice.

Dumbfounded, Myka furrowed her brow and tried to explain her reasoning, "Honestly, I didn't know you wanted me to stay. I actually thought you wanted me to leave. After, when you cried," Myka rubbed the back of her neck and shifted her eyes away from the intense look being directed her way, "I thought," a slight blush crept up her neck as she cleared her throat, "I thought I had done something wrong and that you didn't want me there." She licked her dry lips, "Why didn't you ask me to stay?"

Myka surreptitiously watched Helena's guarded expression. She looked pained for a moment before her face became impassive and unreadable. "I did not realize I had to ask," came the whispered answer that caused Myka's heart to clench. Helena sounded so hurt and lost, Myka wanted to reach out and comfort the other woman, but she did not know if it would be a welcome gesture.

"I'm so sorry, Helena," she whispered back, sincerity lacing her voice as she hesitatingly took one of Helena's hands in her own and squeezed gently. Myka waited Helena's reaction with baited breath.

Helena did not let go of Myka's hand. "I feel myself slipping sometimes. Slipping into anger. Into madness," she reached for the locket around her neck with her free hand. "Sometimes, I do not know what is real anymore. I do not know what to think at times. I feel so lost." She turned and stared at the flames dancing along the log in the fireplace while simultaneously consuming and destroying it. Turning it to ash. "I fear the whispers that convince me that perhaps I am too broken, too damaged, too stained with darkness and blood to love." A gentle hand turned her face back to look at Myka. "Perhaps, I deserved to remain bronzed. Perhaps, I am as wicked and evil as MacPherson thought me. Perhaps, I" Myka pressed a finger to Helena's lips to stay her words.

"Perhaps, Helena, you are just a woman who lived through a horrible situation and are now being given a second chance. For redemption. For peace. For love." Myka moved in slowly, allowing Helena every chance to stop her if she wished. When Helena made no move to dissuade her, Myka peppered her face with kisses. Each kiss lingering longer than the one before. Myka finally rested her forehead against Helena's and gazed into the eyes of the woman who had so effortlessly stolen her heart, long before their night of passion. Myka silently swore to herself that whatever happened tomorrow, they would get through Warehouse 2 intact so that she and Helena could begin to mend their relationship.

From an old, long-loved passage Myka whispered softly, reverently, trying not to break the moment, "If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember." She closed the gap between them and chastely pressed her lips to Helena's. "You are braver than you believe," Myka breathed as her hands cupped Helena's face. "Stronger than you seem," she smiled as she dropped a kiss on Helena's nose. "And smarter than you think," at that Helena smirked, eliciting a chuckle from Myka. "But the most important thing is," Myka took a deep breath and her eyes connected with Helena's, "even if we are apart, I will _always _be with you."

Moisture gathered in Helena's eyes. She had to fight the sting in her eyes and the constriction of her throat to thickly whisper, "In a different world, and another time, you promised me the same thing, my love."

Not quite understanding Helena's meaning, Myka's heart nonetheless skipped a beat at the inventor's endearment. Looking deeply into a dark gaze, Myka let everything she felt for the enigmatic woman show in her eyes. She hoped it told the other woman everything words could not as her lips descended on Helena's sealing the promise (both spoken and unspoken); and, of her own volition, Myka intertwined her fate with that of Helena's.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sunrise found two figures huddled together wrapped up in a light blanket. The fire had long since burned out, and with its demise a chill and darkness had permeated the room. The light from the rising sun dispelled the darkness and illuminated the women on the couch. Helena rested her head on Myka's shoulder, allowing Myka to rest her cheek on her head with her arms wrapped around the inventor. Both women were awake but silent, neither wishing to disturb the peace of the moment (Myka unconsciously drawing circles on Helena's lower back with her fingertips). But, with dawn came the responsibility of preparing for what was to be the difficult task of infiltrating Warehouse 2.

"What's wrong, Helena?" Myka asked softly, feeling the sudden tension coming off the other woman's body. Helena pressed her ear to Myka's chest, listening to the steady beat of the younger woman's heart. She let the strong, slow beat lull and relax her. Myka waited patiently as Helena contemplated how to answer.

"Do you remember the first time we met, Myka?" Helena's question was muffled against Myka's breast but still audible.

The younger woman furrowed her brow in confusion, not understanding the motive of the question, or where it had even come from. Slightly shaking her head, half smirk forming on her face, Myka answered into Helena's hair, "How could I forget? You were all bluster, confidence and grace." Helena chuckled and looked up at Myka, something akin to hope flashing in her eyes. Myka still confused as to the question- and now Helena's reaction to her answer- continued with her explanation. "You had Pete at gunpoint. After which, you proceeded to leave both me and Pete stuck to the ceiling of your room while you strutted out…" her voice petered out at the crestfallen look that momentarily overtook Helena's features. Though the inventor quickly schooled her features, Myka felt her heart sinking at the long suffering sigh that Helena released. Now more confused than before, Myka tightened her arms around a retreating Helena, "No more running, Helena. What's going on?"

Frustrated and cornered, Helena responded before thinking, "I do believe running seems to be more your specialty, not my own." The barbed words pierced Myka's heart and brought a flush of shame to her face, but she did not loosen her grasp on the other woman. Helena struggled for a moment longer against Myka's sure grip before giving up and fiercely returning the embrace. She was practically sitting in the younger woman's lap, their upper halves flush and desperately pressed together. Her face buried in the crook of Myka's neck. "I am sorry, Myka," she whispered on a sigh, her breath hitching. "I keep expecting you to miraculously remember something you cannot; and become someone you are not."

Bringing her hand up to cradle Helena's head while simultaneously burying her own face in the crook of the other woman's neck, Myka took a deep breath (taking a moment to just breathe Helena in) before releasing it slowly. She still did not understand what Helena meant, but she wanted to remove the weary, defeated tone from the older woman's voice. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Helena," her own breath hitching dangerously, Myka mentally braced herself for what she was about to admit. "I was wrong." She unconsciously tightened her grip, trying to get impossibly closer to the inventor. "I was wrong to walk out; to try to run from this. There's no excuse for that, and I'm not trying to give you one. But, I'm sometimes terrified of what I feel for you. It's not like anything I've ever felt before."

Myka paused to collect her thoughts and better explain herself to the woman she had obviously hurt. "I've been in love before, Helena." She felt Helena stiffen at the statement, so she quickly continued, "But, what I feel for you is so much bigger, deeper and stronger than anything I have ever felt before. You make me illogical. You strip control from me without even lifting a finger. You tilt my world on its axis by simply being. You transform my tidily ordered life to chaotic rush and feeling. You rob me of my common sense. And, the scariest part is that I wouldn't change a single thing even if given the opportunity. I love you so much that it overwhelms me." She felt relief rush through her at finally saying the words out loud to Helena. "That night, I was so scared of you rejecting me. I reacted out of that fear and walked out before I could be thrown out. Because I could never handle rejection from you, I let my fear lead me out that door. I'm so sorry." Myka's relief was short lived as she felt drops of wetness land on her neck. Her heart momentarily forgot how to beat as she rushed to finish, "I'm so sorry I hurt you, Helena. Please forgive me."

Wetness continued to fall softly on her neck. The knot in Myka's stomach eased slightly when she become conscious of the fact Helena had not tried to escape her embrace. She shakily released a breath she had not realized she was holding when Helena started speaking after a seemingly interminable silence, her heart skipping a beat for an entirely different reason.

"I cannot recall a time when I have not loved you, Myka," Helena began nuzzling Myka's neck as she spoke. "What I do to you, you also do to me. And while it is new to you and overwhelming, it has sustained me for far longer than you can imagine." Helena paused, knowing she was confusing Myka yet again, but needing to explain some of her behavior. "That night you did absolutely nothing wrong Myka." She reinforced her statement with a kiss to Myka's neck. "In fact, you were utterly perfect. I think that was partly what gave way to the tears," her tone incredulous as she slightly shook her head. "I pride myself on my control as much as you do, darling. But there is something about you that just unhinges me. You wrest control from me, as I do from you." Helena smiled through her waning tears at that. "After all this time, when I never expected it, I finally found you, and that overwhelmed my sense of equilibrium." Helena finally moved her head to look Myka in the face, but did not relinquish her embrace to the young woman. "I did not intend to scare you. Nor did I intend to reject you. I love you with everything I am, Myka Bering." She looked into Myka's eyes and saw a hunger she recognized. "I just hope that you loving me, and me loving you is enough," she whispered to herself as she slowly closed the distance between their lips, enjoying the anticipation of the moment.

The kiss started off soft and slow, but quickly escalated to a hard and desperate exchange between two souls that needed the reassurance of passion to reaffirm their love. They only separated when they heard the telltale signs that the other occupants of the Bed and Breakfast were waking and making their way down the stairs.

Helena quickly dipped her head to capture Myka's kissed bruised lips once more in a hurried kiss that left both agents breathless. Sounds from the kitchen alerted them of their need to get ready to leave for their mission. Reluctantly the women disentangled from one another and stood to make their exit.

"Duty calls I'm afraid," Myka stated looking at Helena as if duty was the last thing on her mind.

"Mayhap we can continue this later, then?" Helena asked, a wicked smile gracing her features as she sashayed her way out of the room.

"Later, yeah," Myka dumbly replied as her eyes followed the shapely curves swaying out of the room. Shaking herself out of her stupor once Helena was completely out of the room, she let out a soft laugh, "This is going to be one _very_ long trip."

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><p>Awe radiated off the three figures walking through the ancient Warehouse. Wide eyes explored the expanse laid before them. Hands itched to touch the artifacts of centuries long forgotten. Everything gave off an essence of power that was as thrilling as it was terrifying. Though silence permeated the atmosphere inside the entombed house of relics, the entire Warehouse seemed to be breathing in rhythmic cadence as if resting; only waiting to be roused.<p>

"I'm getting wiggy vibes you guys," Pete said sweeping his eyes across the rows of ancient artifacts. He felt like he was at the top of the biggest drop of a rollercoaster, set on the precipice, ready to go over and be plunged down- only much, much worse. A cold chill run up his spine and his stomach flipped with worry as he saw shadows darting around just beyond his peripheral vision. "Ugh. Let's just keep moving alright." The three agents cautiously continued into the heart of Warehouse 2.

A whisper of voices caught Myka's attention. She could hear a murmur of sound like an incessant buzzing that she could not particularly place. A tendril of fear gripped her heart at the sound, but she nonetheless paused to listen while Pete and Helena continued cautiously down the aisle toward the center of the ancient Warehouse. "Hey," Myka called out, "do you hear that?" She cocked her head and turned to get a better gauge of where exactly the sound was originating from.

Not waiting for a response, she began walking toward the sound trying to make out the words of the unintelligible murmur. Uneasy but determined to find the source of the sound she continued forward. Following the murmur, Myka moved to the adjacent aisle. Here the murmur turned into distinct voices which seemed to be in heated conversation with one another. She tried to make out what the voices were saying, but a moment after listening intently to the conversation she realized that the voices were not speaking English, or any language she recognized. Completely immersed in her curiosity, Myka strained to pinpoint the origin of the voices. She continued walking down the aisle until she reached the end which was closed off by a sheer wall of stone inset with various statues.

She carefully studied the wall and statues. She recognized the likeness of Anubis and Osiris, so she assumed the other statues also represented Egyptian gods. The statues were beautifully crafted and radiated an energy that made them seem almost like resting beings instead of statues (much like the Warehouse itself seemed to be in a state of suspended animation and was not simply a dead tomb). So immersed was Myka in her inspection of the figures that she did not notice the sudden, absolute quiet that engulfed her. Still engrossed in her study, Myka noticed a pedestal between the statues. On the pedestal was a single white feather. It gave off an effervescent light that mesmerized her senses.

Enthralled, forgetting caution in her curiosity, Myka reached to touch the glowing feather. It looked like such an innocuous and pretty thing that she disregarded experience that was screaming at her that it was dangerous. Myka felt the physical pull to touch the feather and feel its weight and its texture. A hair breadths distance away from the feather, Myka heard simultaneous screams for her attention. Time seemed to slow as Myka looked over her shoulder toward Pete and Helena. They seemed to be running toward her in slow motion, twin faces etched in desperate concern.

Her training and common sense finally reasserting itself, Myka's eyes quickly cut back to the statues and the feather. Blood draining from her face, she realized her hand had already wrapped itself around the feather (she noted absently that it felt like what she thought a cloud might feel like). Whipping her head back around to Pete and Helena, she focused on Helena's distraught face. Locking eyes with the other woman, Myka let her eyes express everything that she innately knew she would have no time to voice.

Within the space of a heartbeat, she felt the feather go from a cool, almost fluffy substance to searing heat that somehow did not seem to burn her. She was momentarily disoriented as she found herself floating above something that looked suspiciously like her own body. Before she could ascertain what was happening, a blinding light erupted from the hand still holding the feather. It radiated outward until it encompassed everything. Myka suddenly felt the air rush out of her lungs as an invisible force pushed her into the sheer rock wall that held all the Egyptian statues.

Myka tried to fight the rushing force pushing her, to no avail. Unable to scream for lack of air, she curled into a tight ball and waited for the inevitable collision.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: So, this is where things go off into a very different place. Hopefully, you enjoy the ride.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

A sudden shift in direction knocked what little breath was left out of Myka's chest. She uncurled at the force of the change in course; gasping in an attempt to alleviate the sudden vacuum in her chest. She felt herself being pulled upward right as she was about to collide with the wall. Looking down, she saw the tiny figures of Pete and Helena leaning over a prostrate figure on the floor of the Warehouse. Before she could truly contemplate what was happening, she was rushing further away as she continued to sweep upward. The figures below her were quickly disappearing to tiny specs of nothingness.

The force pulling Myka appeared to be generated by the feather still clutched in her hand. In an attempt to slow her velocity, she tried letting go of the seemingly innocuous object. To her dismay, the feather held fast in her closed fist. Concentrating on her hand, willing it to unwrap from the feather, Myka was more than a little awed at the realization that the feather had a hold on her, and not the other way around.

Beams of light were spilling from the feather and curling around and up her arm. Noticing the light for the first time, she took a moment to take in its incandescent beauty before promptly freaking out at the fact that the light was moving up her arm. She tried to sweep the light back, but her fingers went through the insubstantial substance. Before she knew what was happening, she was encased in the glowing brilliance. The force propelling her was now all around her.

Heart in her throat, Myka tried to still the rush of fear that swept through her as she was ushered into an enormous chamber. Nausea overtaking her at the sudden stop of her forward motion she bent at the waist before dropping to her knees and heaving in several cleansing breaths. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see a sea of faces. Heart thudding painfully in her chest, she stood on wobbly knees. Looking with false bravado at the faces across from her she tried to keep from collapsing.

Looking around to get a better idea of where she was, Myka noticed several things at once: the figures across from her were enormous beings; those same figures were closing the distance between them at an unbelievably fast pace; she was standing on what appeared to be an enormous scale; the feather that had been clutched in her hand was now on the other side of the balance. Myka was not sure what it all meant, all she knew was that she was afraid. She was feeling the kind of fear that makes its presence known only in darkness; the kind of fear that knots the stomach and makes a cold sweat break out on the brow; the kind of fear that settles between the shoulder blades and presses unmercifully until the chest is constricted to the point of pain. The kind of fear that resides within the ribcage and once released poisons the blood with each beat of the heart. Myka was experiencing that type of fear; the fear that she was in over her head with no rescue in sight. She was not only scared that she was in a bad situation, but she felt real unadulterated fear that is only experienced when in the presence of something supernatural.

Now surrounded by the fearsome figures, Myka felt faint. She recognized several but could not wrap her mind around what she was seeing. She gulped as her eyes landed on the fierce visage of the jackal headed figure. She knew she was staring into the face of the ancient Egyptian god Anubis. Closing her eyes against what she was seeing, she prayed she was just in a very bad dream. Shuddering, she considered her position. She stood weighed in the balance of an ancient system for unknown reasons. And above her, meting out judgment, were a committee of beings that should not exist. All looking at her as if she were about to be dumped into the deepest punishment.

She unconsciously took a step back, coming dangerously close to the edge of the scale. Anubis turned his head to pierce her with a steely glare. "What is this?" the jackal swiveled his head toward Osiris. "She is not the one the feather was to attract." Myka wanted to run, but she had nowhere to go. Heart thudding in her ears, breathing near hyperventilating, Myka tried to be as brave as she could given the circumstances.

"Child, be still," echoed a booming voice through the chamber in a voice that was at once soothing and terrifying. The elegantly decorated Pharaoh said nothing more; his green skin doing an excellent job of adding menace to his imposing figure. Myka suddenly knew how Dorothy felt facing off against the Wicked Witch. Although, her mind screamed at her, a bucket of water would probably do her no good in this situation.

In the back of her mind, her curiosity was piqued. She knew she should not suddenly understand a language dead for many centuries. Myka considered the phenomenon that she was experiencing at the moment, before her fear made itself known once again at the distinct arguing happening around her. Her fear lessened marginally when she realized the figures were mad at each other and not necessarily at her. Suspending her idea of reality for a moment and taking a mental step back while the figures argued, Myka considered what she was seeing. Ancient Egyptian gods of two completely different time periods were working side by side (though not very well, as evidenced by the constant arguing) to achieve some common goal. She could not discern the common goal, but she knew it had to be important to get two different ages of gods to cooperate.

Tuning back into the conversation happening over her, Myka tried to make sense of what she was hearing. She listened transfixed as the two gods of the dead argued back and forth.

"The one that entered our sanctum a century ago was supposed to be attracted to the feather," Anubis said, annoyance coloring his tone, "instead, we get this innocent whose soul is lighter than the feather."

"There must be a reason the feather choose her and not the other," the booming voice of Osiris answered. "The feather is truth and justice. And, it does not answer to us Anubis. We simply asked for protection to keep existing. The feather will provide us that through this innocent."

Forgetting she was at the edge of the balance, Myka took a step back when all the attention was once again focused on her. She tensed when she felt herself begin to fall. A large hand on her back, however, stopped her decent before it started. She was gently pushed back onto the balance. Turning around to see who had saved her, Myka was momentarily shocked speechless. A breathtakingly beautiful creature stood before her. She had the perfect figure with two blindingly white wings spreading across her back, a throne sitting atop a flawless face. Myka mutely nodded in thanks to the goddess Isis. The goddess stepped back smiling.

Turning to Osiris and Anubis, Isis began to speak in measured, honeyed tones, "This innocent is connected to the one who sought to destroy the world with one of our weapons. She is connected to both her past and her future. The feather chose her because she is the only one who can truly change the injured one's heart. I see a bond, threadbare but present, connecting this young one to the other one. She will save the world," here she paused and looked directly at Myka, "if she lives through the experience that connects her to the injured one's past."

"Can we not just tell her?" Anubis asked staring hard at Myka.

"It would not be sufficient," Isis answered, looking at Myka compassionately, as if wishing she could spare her the experience.

"She must experience the truth," Osiris said with finality.

Unable to stay quiet anymore, Myka gathered her courage and asked, "What truth?"

"Your truth," all the gathered gods answered simultaneously.

At that, Myka's world exploded. She was engulfed in light and hurled down and back. She could see the world around her. She was rushing over deserts and forests and cities. She was headed to the heart of what appeared to be London, except it was rougher around the edges than she remembered. She was headed to an abandoned area of the city to a decrepit warehouse, where a young man was dying under the weight of a wooden beam that seemed to have exploded in an artifact induced accident.

She covered her face and head as she rushed to the ground. She hit the ground hard. The wind completely expelling form her lungs. Gasping, she tried to pull in breath, but something was constricting her chest. Myka heard steps and tried to call out for help but could not get enough breath in her lungs to make her vocal cords work. Wheezing in short breaths, she hoped someone would appear and rescue her.

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><p>The blinding light that had engulfed Myka dissipated. Pete and Helena rushed to Myka's prostrate body. Both agents were breathing hard at the exertion of trying to reach Myka in time, their expressions grim as they inspected the body of their fallen friend. Pete checked for a pulse, while Helena busied herself with ascertaining if Myka had any grievous injuries that they could not see.<p>

Feeling a thready, but evident, pulse, Pete expelled a heavy breath. Looking up at the sound, Helena searched his face, "What is it?"

"She's still with us but something's wrong," straightening out he looked over Myka's body. Not finding what he was looking for, he began sweeping his eyes to the area directly surrounded them. "Where is it?" He mumbled to himself, forgetting Helena was there with him and letting panic enter his voice.

"What are you looking for?" Helena asked not lifting her head from her assessment of Myka.

"The feather," he said in something approaching desperation. "We have to find that feather." He moved to circle the area near the statues. "We have to neutralize it." He paced back to where Helena now stood over Myka's body. "We have to get her back." He paced another circle around the immediate area, eyes looking frantically for the object. "We have to find that feather, so we can get her back." He quickly paced back toward the wall, eyes desperately searching the floor. "She can't be gone. She can't leave me." Quickly whirling around in his anxious search, he let out a frustrated growl at the fruitlessness of his hunt. "Where is the damn feather?" Frustration welling up inside him, he slammed his hand on the nearest thing to him.

"Get a hold of yourself, Lattimer," Helena snapped, her anxiousness making her short with the other agent, "And for the love of god, do not touch anything." She glanced up at where his hand was precariously placed. "I cannot possibly get Myka out safely if you are both out of commission. Do try to be an aid and not a hindrance." She did not even spare Pete a glance as she voiced her opinion.

"Listen lady, I have every right to be freaking out," he responded hotly, approaching Helena and stopping on the opposite side of Myka's prone form. "Why aren't you freaking out? Shouldn't you be more frantic than I am?" He leaned in closer to Helena his voice turning sarcastic, his innate dislike of her urging him to goad and ruffle her unflappable attitude. "She is _only_ your lover," he smirked at the slight widening of her eyes. "Or was she only a good lay. Another notch on the great H.G. Wells' belt." Knowing he had hit a nerve at the narrowing of Helena's eyes, Pete continued to verbally poke at the rapidly steaming woman. "She was one of many, as I recall." He brought his hand up to his chin, and partially mimicked The Thinker, "What was it you said?" He pretended to contemplate it for a moment before he made an exaggerated gesture of an eureka moment, "Ahh yes, something along the lines of 'many of my lovers were men.'" Pete accompanied the statement with air quotes and falsetto voice in imitation of Helena before dropping the pretense and looking hard at the woman. "So, what exactly was Myka?" He asked, scowling at the inventor. "Maybe a distraction? A fun way to pass the time until you found something better? Or, just someone to get your blood flowing after spending a century in the bronze sector?"

The sound of a resounding slap echoed through the suddenly quiet Warehouse. Pete's head jerked back at the force of the slap. Years of close quarters combat training had his fist flying at his opponents face before he even registered that he was retaliating. Unable to stop now that he had his entire weight behind the punch, Pete just closed his eyes and cringed at the fact that he was about to hit a woman. A second later, when his fist should have been solidly connecting with a very pretty Victorian jaw, the entire force of his punch was absorbed and stopped by a surprisingly strong grip. His eyes snapped open to see Helena's hand firmly curled around his fist, a mere inch separating the space between their clasped hands and her face.

His eyes cut to her blazing brown orbs. "I am quite a bit more formidable than you give me credit for Agent Lattimer," she practically spat at him. Helena was fuming. She tossed his fist aside, leaned over the space separating them, finger pushing firmly into his chest. "How dare you?" she bit off every word, not yelling, but more intimidating in her quiet fury. "You have no idea what is between Myka and myself. You have absolutely no right to question my motives and intentions. Our relationship is none of your business."

Not one to be outdone in emotional outbursts, Pete swatted Helena's hand from his chest, squared his shoulders, and leaned to within an inch of the inventor's face. "I have every right," he snapped back at her. "I'm the best friend that watched her pine for you for a year before you even acknowledged her attraction. And, you couldn't let her down gently once you finally deigned to recognize her infatuation." Pete gestured wildly with his hands, trying to emphasize his points, his voice inflecting more the angrier he got on Myka's behalf, yet he managed to stay in Helena's face. "Nooohooohoooo. I was the one that had to hear about how hot and cold you were; how you flipped form yes to no every second; how you were in and then out; and how you were up and then down. God, I think Myka wrote the lyrics to that stupid, but very catchy, Katy Perry song." Pete took a deep breath, winding down from his rant. "You, lady, should've just…"

A seismic tremor, that shook the entire Warehouse, swallowed up what Pete was going to say. The shaking continued for an endless moment, sending both agents crashing to the ground. When the final vibrations subsided, both Pete and Helena scrambled to their feet, a silent truce communicated through a quick look. "We have to get out of here," Pete said unnecessarily. Helena barely contained the urge to roll her eyes at him.

"Very astute observation, _Pete_," she mocked, unable to forgo a final jab at the man. Pete grunted but refrained from commenting. Making their way over to Myka's prone form, both agents considered their next move. Bending to get closer to the woman who was drastically changing everything she had planned for over a century, Helena let out a pained sigh. She tenderly tucked a strand of stray hair behind Myka's ear and cupped a cool, deathly pale face. She refused to consider the very real possibility that the weak heartbeat she felt under her hand could possibly stop. "You mustn't leave me a second time, my love." Helena took a shuddering breath, momentarily overwhelmed by a familiar feeling of loss blossoming in the center of her chest.

Feeling like a voyeur witnessing a private moment, Pete stepped back and averted his gaze, attempting to give Helena the moment she needed. For all his bluster and righteous anger, he knew that what was happening between his partner and Helena was serious and deep.

Composing herself, Helena got up and addressed Pete, "How shall we proceed?"

Pete took a moment to consider their situation but was cut short when another tremor shook the Warehouse. Knowing they had little time for finesse, Pete got down next to Myka, and as gently as he could, lifted her up into a fireman's carry. "You're definitely lighter than I thought Mykes," he muttered softly looking at his partner's ashen face. Expelling a breath, he adjusted Myka as he stood and looked to Helena, "I guess now we hope we get lucky and find the way out."

Assessing that the other agent had a good hold on Myka but not responding, Helena began walking through the maze of aisles not hesitating as she expertly lead the way. Pete, lagging slightly at the added weight on his shoulders, looked over his shoulder his brow furrowed in confusion, "Hey," he called at the quickly moving woman, "how do you know where you're going?" He caught up to Helena (who had paused to wait for him), "Are we even going the right way?" He looked around the area skeptically.

"Yes," Helena began moving again, "we are going in the right direction."

Huffing, but moving at the inventor's pace, Pete shot her a sidelong look, "How do you even know that?"

Turning at a bend he had not noticed, Pete only heard her disembodied voice as he backpedaled and followed Helena through the hidden fissure, "How can I put it in a way that you would understand?" He caught a quick view of her, before she turned at another bend and disappeared from view again. "This is not my first rodeo, Agent Lattimer." Stepping through to follow, Pete had to stop and close his eyes at the sudden blinding light hitting his face.

They were standing outside the Warehouse, sun high in the sky and sand as far as the eye could see.

* * *

><p>"Wells," the tall man called to the inventor. "Caturanga said the curiosity originated in this general area, but we have yet to find anything. Perhaps, if we spread out and make a wider search, we will actually find something."<p>

Nodding at his suggestion, Helena moved to widen the perimeter of her search. Carefully making her way through the rubble of the explosion, she startled at the pained groan that erupted from a figure she had missed lying in the shadows beneath a fallen wooden beam. Quickly assessing if the figure was a threat, she cautiously made her way to help, "MacShane," she called over her shoulder, "I think I may have found something."

She could hear MacShane's heavy gait approaching behind her. Feeling sufficiently covered if anything were to transpire, Helena closed the final distance between herself and the stranger. Looking down at a face contorted in pain and quickly losing consciousness, she saw the most beautiful green eyes looking up at her through the haze of pain.

"Helena," a pain roughed voice rasped in something akin to surprise, "What are you doing here?" Helena's eyebrows rose in surprise that this stranger knew her name. Before she could ask the question at the tip of her tongue, MacShane let out a bark of laughter. Two pairs of eyes cut to the man who had just reached them.

"An American, Wells," his eyes twinkled in amusement as he spoke. "You certainly have interesting tastes." Before she could interject that she did not have any idea who the stranger was, MacShane continued speaking (amusement still evident in his tone), "Let's get this thing off you then, shall we," the burly man stated as he grabbed one end of the beam. "Would you be a dear, Wells, and help me rescue this good American?"

At a loss for words in her surprise, Helena simply acquiesced and helped the man remove the beam. MacShane helped the stranger up; holding the lanky figure gingerly noting several broken ribs, the grimaces of pain and inability to pull in a full breath a certain indication of such. Gently looping his arm around thin shoulders, MacShane steadied the swaying American. "Steady there, I think you may have a couple of broken ribs," he stated as he helped the stranger move toward the waiting carriage.

Shaking out of her momentary funk, Helena moved to catch up to the figures already seated in the carriage. Sitting directly across from the stranger, who looked ready to lose consciousness at any moment, she asked what MacShane had prevented her from asking before, "You have me at a disadvantage," she made sure to make eye contact before continuing, "you seem to know me, but I cannot say that we have met before." She saw and felt confused green eyes track over her face. Taking a half breath, the stranger let out a name.

"Micah," Helena tried the name out on her tongue.

Nodding, green eyes clouded in pain locked on hers and looked deep into her soul and tugged at her heartstrings, the American repeated the name in a rough, deep voice, "Myka Bering."

Myka's world turned dark as the carriage hit an uneven patch of road that pushed broken ribs into soft tissue causing the pain to cross the line between barely tolerable to more than the body could handle.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I just want to say thank you for the lovely reviews I've gotten on this story. And if I haven't gotten back to you personally, it is because I cannot, but I want everyone to know that all comments and reviews are appreciated.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Noticing that Helena had nodded off, Leena entered Myka's room quietly and closed the door softly behind her. She placed the tray on the nightstand and went to go cover the exhausted woman with a blanket. Helena had been keeping a constant vigil over Myka since their return from Egypt without taking a moment to rest. Leena and Claudia had tried, to no avail, to get the stubborn woman to take a few hours and rest herself. Sighing in consternation as Helena roused, Leena laid the blanket back down at the foot of the bed, retraced her steps, picked up the tray and brought it closer to the other woman. "I'm sorry I woke you," at Helena's dismissive nod, Leena let the matter drop. "I thought you might like some tea."

Accepting the offered cup of tea, Helena took a tentative sip before sighing in contentment as the hot liquid warmed her from the inside out. "Thank you, Leena," the inventor said with genuine warmth at the Bed and Breakfast owner's care and concern. "I have known only one other person who could make such a fine cup of tea," Helena offered by way of opening conversation. She wanted to ask Leena some questions but she did not know how to do so without seeming tactless.

After a moment's study of the woman across from her, Leena smiled, her eyes twinkling, "Helena, you can just ask me whatever it is that you've been meaning to ask." A single eyebrow raised posed a silent question to the still smiling woman. "When you're tired and worried, it becomes much easier to read your intent." At that, Helena's other eyebrow rose and gave her a slightly shocked expression. Chuckling, Leena filled her own cup with tea. "Don't look so shocked Helena. I do live with a former NSA operative, two Secret Service agents, a teenager, and on occasion Mrs. Frederic," she smiled as she sipped her tea, "I have learned a thing or two about reading people."

"Indeed," came the instant response.

At Helena's skeptical look, she expounded, "Though being able to see beyond the physical does help." Becoming serious, Leena looked Helena in the eye, "I must admit that when you are tired and worried you become much easier to read in that regard as well. You have an uncanny ability to hide from me, Helena. I do not know for what reason you ever honed that particular ability, but I can't often see the details of what you're feeling. I only ever see the things you project like a shield. Why do you hide?"

Averting her gaze, Helena made her feelings known about the subject without uttering a word. Leena did not need to be able to see Helena's aura to know that the inventor did not want to broach that particular subject. Putting her cup of tea aside, Leena backed off the subject, "So what is it you wanted to know Helena?"

Putting her own cup of tea aside, Helena gestured toward Myka, "Pete says she is in something like suspended animation. Which, as I understand it, means to be physically alive but not completely present with us in mind. What do you see? I cannot explain it, but I almost feel like she is missing a vital part of herself."

Looking at the woman lying on the bed, Leena inspected Myka who was ashen and motionless. She looked like a porcelain doll, lifelike but lacking the soul to make the marionette a living creature.

Leena saw an empty spot in the middle of Myka's chest where a soul should be attached. What surprised Leena when she first saw the empty place was not the missing soul, but the evident bond connecting Myka to Helena. It vibrated with vitality when Helena drew near to Myka. It seemed that the closer Helena stayed to Myka, the better Myka looked (at least to Leena). It seemed Helena was Myka's tether to this present world, at least partially.

Leena cut her eyes to the figure seated near the headboard of the bed. The beautiful creature had her wings curled behind her back, her legs folded one over the other pillowing Myka's head as her hands hovered on both sides of Myka's head. She bowed her head in deference to the ancient power seated in the room, keeping Myka's body from expiring before the younger woman's time was up in this life. Nodding back in acknowledgement, Isis returned to the task at hand.

"I see that Myka will be okay until she gets that vital part of herself back," Leena stated turning back to Helena. "All we have to do is wait, and let time play out the course of this thing."

"We do not have time," Helena stood to pace, running her hands through her hair in exasperation, "she could die at any moment."

"She will not die," Leena stated simply, getting up and collecting their tea cups.

"How can you be so sure?" Helena stopped pacing.

"I just am," Leena stopped after she opened the door. "You should consider taking a moment to look after yourself, Helena. Myka will be right here when you get back." She stepped out of the room before Helena had time to respond.

Staring into the empty hallway through the open door, Helena shook her head in a slightly bewildered manner, "All the women in this household like telling me what to do."

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><p>Myka roused from sleep feeling like she was floating on a fluffy cloud. She knew she had a couple of broken ribs and she should not be feeling anything but pain, but all she felt was pleasantly numb. Her head lolled to the side and her eyes caught a beautiful sight. "You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on," came a deep voice with the words that had just passed through her mind. Helena looked up from the book she was reading and smiled at the compliment before looking up at someone just outside Myka's vision (not that Myka made any attempt to take her eyes off of Helena).<p>

A kindly looking older man filled Myka's view for a moment, "It is good to see you awake young fellow." The man was obscuring Myka's view of Helena, she did not like it but she could not find it in herself to be upset at the man, she just smiled up at him her head lolling back to be able to see him better. She felt the man grab her right hand and bring it into her field of view. It was disconcerting to see a hand that she felt attached to herself but that was most definitely not hers. Myka was too relaxed, however, to let such a small detail bother her, instead she tried to concentrate on what the man was asking.

"This mark," he pointed to the tattoo on her inner right wrist, "where did you get it?"

She studied the mark for far longer than was usually necessary for her to come up with a coherent response, "I," she licked her lips and wondered at the odd octave her voice seemed to be stuck in, she cleared her throat and continued, "I have never seen it before." She paused and looked at the tattoo harder, "It looks like the feather of Ma'at, though. Interesting," she said before Helena moved back into her vision and expelled all other thoughts from her mind. "Hello, beautiful," she smiled widely up at the woman, "Have you done something to your hair? It looks good. Makes you look all Victorian like." She hummed to herself in agreement of her own statement.

"I do believe the doctor gave too high a dose, Caturanga," Helena said to the older man, amusement clearly evident in her voice.

"I would say so," he responded looking at the note the doctor had left for them. "I say the Warehouse needs to employ its own arsenal of personnel, doctors included. So we can fix these matters without outside interference."

"What happened to good ol' Doc Calder?" Myka asked absently as her eyes caressed every inch of Helena she could see. "She's the best doctor the Warehouse has ever had, wouldn't trade her for anything." Two sets of eyes looked down at her, she suddenly felt scrutinized. "What? What did I say?" She asked with as much interest as she could muster, which was very little because the flickering lights of the candles lit around the room were distracting her from concentrating.

"What happened at that warehouse?" Helena asked at Caturanga's prompting.

"It seemed like an artifact induced explosion," Myka answered airily, looking dreamily up at Helena, "You have the most beautiful brown eyes. They are steady and sure like the earth." Helena shook her head, a smile playing on her lips.

"So you know about the Warehouse?" Caturanga asked, cutting anymore remarks about Helena's beauty short.

"Why wouldn't I know about the Warehouse," Myka asked flicking her eyes to the man, "I only work for it…them…whatever…I'm employed by the Warehouse." Myka nodded to herself at getting all the words out right.

Again, Myka felt scrutinized under two intense set of eyes. Before she could ask a question, Caturanga continued with his own questioning, "So how did you end up in the middle of that explosion at the old warehouse?"

Myka momentarily stared at the ceiling, cutting off as much distraction as possible, trying to recall how she had ended up there in the first place. "I don't exactly know. I seemed to fly over half the world before I ended up there. It was a trip. I thought I was dreaming," Myka said, after which she concentrated on focusing on Helena again but the woman had moved out of her field of view. She tried to focus enough to move her head and follow the woman but she could not muster enough willpower to have her body follow her mind's commands. And soon, the pretty shapes the shadows were making on the ceiling and the whispered conversation between Helena and the nice older gentleman lulled her very drugged addled mind to slumber.

* * *

><p>Helena entered Myka's room after having showered and changed into something more comfortable than her usual attire. She startled slightly upon noticing Pete in the room, she had not expected anyone to be in with Myka. Helena scowled slightly when Pete did not acknowledge her presence but instead continued to whisper something into Myka's ear while he held her left hand between his own bigger ones. She had to physically restrain herself from commenting. And, she had to mentally shake the feeling of jealousy washing through her at Pete's proximity to Myka. She knew, logically, that Myka and Pete had a completely platonic relationship. But, she could not help the illogical feelings she sometimes felt when it came to the woman lying in the bed.<p>

Moving to the window, Helena gave Pete as much privacy as she could while still being in the room. She stared out into the waning twilight without trying to engage the man in conversation. Since their argument in Warehouse 2, Pete had kept silent in Helena's presence. She found the silent treatment both a blessing and a curse. She knew they were just building up to another argument. But, she was not prepared to tell the man anything. Leastwise, how she felt about his partner.

Hearing the door click shut behind her, Helena turned to see the now empty room save for Myka still lying motionless (almost lifeless) on her bed. The inventor moved to sit at the edge of the bed. She wrapped her fingers around Myka's right hand. She needed to be physically near the young woman. Even though Myka did not respond to her physical nearness, it seemed an impulse she could not control. Bringing Myka's hand up to her face, she softly, tenderly kissed each knuckle. Then, turning Myka's hand over, she kissed the younger woman's palm. Helena stopped mid kiss when she noticed a mark on Myka's right inner wrist that had not been there before their venture into Warehouse 2.

Helena scooted closer and angled Myka's arm into the light to better inspect the mark. Gasping in shock as she got a clear view of what was on Myka's wrist. "How can this be?" Helena wondered out loud, disbelief coloring her words. "What is going on?" Helena's voice shook as she traced her fingertip over Myka's newly acquired tattoo. "The feather of Ma'at, in the exact same place," Helena flopped down on her back next to Myka, tears she had been keeping at bay since she saw Myka's body fall on the ancient Warehouse floor began silently trailing down her cheeks. "I feel so useless Myka."

Isis was not given over to human emotion, but her heart was moved with compassion at the sight of Helena's pain. Looking on as Helena moved closer to Myka, Isis observed the bond connecting the women's hearts grow stronger with the proximity. Helena laid her head on Myka's shoulder and wrapped her arms around the younger woman's slim waist.

"She has already changed your world," Isis whispered at the older woman, though Helena would not have been able to hear her if she had shouted. The goddess unfurled her wings and enveloped both women under them. "Sleep, child," the goddess uttered looking at Helena.

Finally allowing exhaustion to overtake her, Helena closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

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><p>Waking with a pounding headache, every inch of her body aching with pain, Myka groaned. Her throat was parched and she needed to pee (really, really bad). Gritting her teeth against the pain of jarring her broken ribs, she slowly pulled herself out of bed. Holding the wall until her vision cleared and the pain receded somewhat, she took a moment to take in her surroundings.<p>

She took in the ornate antique furniture, the lavish but classy decorative scheme, and the flicking candles lighted throughout the room. Doing a second sweep of the room with her eyes, she decided it looked very much like something from an old world picture. If she thought about it hard enough, it kind of reminded her of Helena. She shook her head as bits and pieces of the weirdest dream she had experienced in ages came back to her.

She started slowly, painstakingly making her way to the door so she could go to the bathroom. A wrong step caused her to double over in pain, her hand coming up to hold her injured ribs. Feeling something seriously wrong as her palm passed over her chest, Myka looked down and almost passed out from the shock of what she saw. Her chest was completely flat. "What the hell?" She gasped making her way as quickly as her injured body would allow to the full length mirror in the room.

Stepping in front of the mirror, Myka had to anchor her hands on both sides of the mirror to keep from tumbling to the floor. Her white knuckled grip was the only thing keeping her upright as she gaped at the reflection staring back at her. "What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?" Myka repeated like a broken disc, her voice getting more hysterical the longer she looked at the reflection. She saw her flat chest, wrapped torso, and she did not even want to think about what was below her waist. Dreading knowing, but having to see the evidence for herself, Myka tore one hand off of the mirror and slowly approached the waistband of what looked like billowy, long-john underwear. Pausing, and psyching herself out for what she was almost certain she would encounter, Myka pulled the waistband of the underwear and looked down. She quickly let the waistband snap back on her waist. Gripping the mirror harder than before, she saw the edges of her vision go white.

"What the hell is going on?" Myka asked into the empty room, the strange reflection in the mirror mimicking every move.

Needing to sit, lest she faint and injure herself further, Myka made her way slowly back to the bed and gingerly sat down. Shocked speechless, motionless, and nearly thoughtless, Myka just sat with her mouth hanging open. When the reality began to sink in, Myka buried her head in her hands, trying to get the world to stop spinning, willing an explanation to appear out of thin air. "How is this even possible?" she expelled in a voice much too deep to be her own, running hands through short dark locks of hair. Looking up at the mirror across from her, seeing the reflection of the young man she had seen die under the weight of the beam in the old warehouse, Myka felt like crying in despair.

She was now very much a he.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I feel a warning is in order: there will be a heterosexual relationship in this fic to further a plot point. Again, thank you for all the kind reviews :) I appreciate them all. Also, I wanted to let everyone know that while I would love to keep updating daily, it just isn't feasible for me to continue to do so because I'm so terribly busy at the moment, and I've had no time to sit down and write. But, I will do my best to update weekly (and sooner if I can manage it).

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

"No," Helena was adamant in her refusal, "Myka cannot be removed from here. Not until we know what is really going on and what that artifact she touched did to her. There is nothing that they can do for her at the hospital."

Releasing a longsuffering sigh, Pete tried to keep his voice calm, "Hospitals aren't the hell holes they used to be H.G. They have equipment and technology that could help us find a way to bring her back." Pete looked to Artie for support, exasperation seeping into his tone, "Dr. Calder hasn't been able to do anything for her, except tell us what we already know. She's been catatonic for a week. We need to do something other than watch her lay in that bed day in and day out."

"And how exactly do we try to figure out what the artifact did to her if she is under constant watch by doctors, nurses, and various staff?" Helena spoke slowly and clearly as if speaking to a child. "We need to neutralize the effect of the artifact and that would be impossible if Myka is not here."

Aggravated and insulted at the way Helena was talking to him, Pete dropped any pretense of civility, "And what exactly have we done on that front?" He pierced her with a scowl, his voice taking on a scoffing tone. "That's right, absolutely nothing." Pointing a finger at Helena he continued, "And who are you to be the deciding factor in what happens to Myka?" He slowed his speech, enunciating each word as he repeated his question, "_Who_ are _you_ to _her_?"

"Enough," Artie's shout echoed off the walls of the room. Helena crossed her arms, her eyes flashing dangerously at Pete but she kept silent. The two agents stared murderously at each other in the ensuing silence. The tension in the room was palpable. Artie looked between the occupants of the room his eyes oscillating between Pete and Helena, his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure.

Leene sighed and slipped out to the kitchen to prepare tea, Artie's angry voice filling the silence behind her.

Mrs. Frederic walked into the kitchen to find Leena steeping tea in preparation for her arrival. Seating themselves opposite one another across the kitchen table they jumped right into the topic that was causing palpable tension between everyone at the Warehouse.

"What are we going to do?" Leena asked the older woman looking up into deep, old eyes.

"There is nothing that can be done," the stately woman shook her head, "Myka touched the feather of Ma'at. That is a power far above our own."

"That won't satisfy Helena. She won't sit idly by and wait." Leena shivered as a thought occurred to her, "She would tear this world apart for her. I can see it."

"She already had that in mind once before," Mrs. Frederic divulged calmly as if she was sharing nothing more than the weather. "That, I suspect, is the reason this is happening to Myka in the first place. But there is nothing she can do to expedite this process. Helena, and the rest of the team, must wait until Myka returns on her own."

"She's missing her soul, Irene," Leena said worry coloring her tone, "Isis sits guard over her body to keep it from dying. But, I don't understand why? And to what purpose? And how is she even going to get her soul back?"

Shaking her head, the Warehouse matron answered honestly, "I do not know, Leena." Her sigh giving away how frustrated she was with the situation, "All I know is that this involves power that supersedes our own. And I have been forbidden to interfere." Both women turned at the slamming of the front door.

"Hopefully this is all resolved before those two tear each other apart," Leena said seeing two flaring auras moving to the parked SUV.

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><p>Myka paced like a caged lion (six steps to, swivel, six steps fro). The unending, maddening cycle was beginning to wear on the occupants in the sitting room directly below.<p>

Grunting in exasperation, Charles looked over the top of the newspaper he was trying to read while enjoying his morning tea, "Helena, dear," he said with put on sweetness, smiling when Helena looked up from her writing, "could you possibly go tell your _guest_ to refrain from driving me mad?"

A smirk painting her lips, Helena raised a questioning eyebrow at her brother, "My _guest_, Charles?" He smiled behind his paper at her tone. "You make him sound like one of the many _guests_ that grace your quarters, dear brother." Shaking her head at his quiet laughter and casual attitude of the whole situation, Helena tried to clarify. Knowing explaining it would be useless, she attempted it regardless, "He is not that type of guest, Charles. He was injured and needed a place to heal for a couple of days. That is all," she insisted.

Tilting his head toward the constant noise being generated above him, Charles looked less than convinced, "He seems awfully agitated for that being the total sum of happenings in this situation." Turning back to his paper, he smirked as he stated, "And, my dear, at least my _guests_ generally have the decency to make themselves scarce with the rising of the sun." He looked up as fine dust landed on his newspaper. Frowning as he dusted his paper, Charles looked at his sister annoyance clearly coloring his features, "Making the whole process much more pleasant for every party involved."

Helena rolled her eyes at his upset but got up from her desk nonetheless, "Alright, Charles, I will go find out what is wrong and try to calm him down." She stood, gently placed the fountain pen neatly beside the parchment and straightened the wrinkles from her dress. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Charles place his newspaper aside and stand to approach her. Turning to him, she raised her eyebrows in tacit question, "Am I not moving quickly enough for you brother?"

Her amusement died when she saw how serious he was, "What is it Charles?"

Closing the short distance between them, the tall, willowy man leant against the desk, eyes firmly fixed on his sister's, "Helena, are you in some sort of trouble?" He titled his head to indicate the man in the room above but kept his gaze on Helena. "A few days ago, you walk in here, at God knows what hour of the night, with those fellows you associate with, carrying this stranger who has apparently become a permanent guest." Helena dropped her eyes. "What is going on?" Charles caught Helena by the shoulder before she could turn away and gently, but firmly, held her in place. He used his other hand to tilt her chin up so he could look at her eyes. "Whatever it may be, Helena, I can help." He lightly kissed her forehead. "Let me help."

Clasping his hand in hers, Helena leaned in to kiss his cheek, "I cannot explain all this." She waved her hand to indicate the now silent room. Charles expression hardened. Sighing, she squeezed his hand, "Trust me Charles."

Knowing he would be unable to persuade her to divulge anything, Charles acquiesced, his features softening again, "I always do." Releasing her, he stepped to the decorative rack of swords placed by the hearth. Picking one up, he studied the length of it before turning to his sister, smirk firmly in place, "And, I will polish my dueling skills. Should the need arise to defend my sister's honor."

Helena's laugh bounced off the walls as she exited the sitting room. He heard her rejoinder float down the stairs, "I am very well capable of defending my own honor brother."

* * *

><p>"Artie, do you think sending them out together was the wisest idea?" Claudia's tone was incredulous. "They've been at each other's throats since they got back from Egypt. It's like Myka was the only thing making them even remotely civil to one another."<p>

"I don't care," Artie gruffed, "I just needed them out of here. They were driving me crazy." He pushed his glasses up and refocused on the file in front of him. "They might even work out their differences now that they're forced to work together."

Claudia raised both eyebrows at the sometimes absent minded man, shaking her head she turned back to the laptop she had used as a shield while Pete and Helena argued. "Yeah," she muttered, "that has about the same probability as a snowball's chance in hell."

"I heard that," Artie groused without turning around to face her. Claudia rolled her eyes at his back and used exaggerative facial motions to mimic the older man. "Stop that," he demanded as he swiveled around to face her. She stopped mid motion and pouted at Artie, "Party pooper."

Standing and picking up his file, Artie walked out to the stairs, "Come with me." He impatiently waited for the girl to follow him, "And, bring your laptop." He disappeared up the stairs into what Claudia knew was Myka's room.

Gathering her things, Claudia scrambled up the stairs to follow the grumpy, old man. She entered the room and paused at the sight of Artie tenderly holding Myka's hand, his countenance softening into an expression she rarely saw on his face. She walked over to Myka's bookshelf to give Artie his private moment. Walking her fingers along the spines of books, she stopped at a book that looked very recently placed on the shelf. Picking it up she turned it over to read the cover. It was an old, worn copy of The Time Machine. Glancing back at the books neatly placed in rows on the shelf, she noted a much newer copy of the same book she held in her hand.

"What have we got here then?" she muttered to herself as she opened the cover of the book. In Helena's precise handwriting, written on the top left inside cover of the book was a dedication:

_In memory of my darling Myka, _

_Who was the inspiration and muse of this work. _

_Helena G. Wells, 1895_

Fingertips ghosted over the old, faded ink. Brow furrowed in bewilderment, Claudia stared at the inscription dumbfounded. Trying to wrap her mind around the possible implications of what she was seeing, Claudia sat down on the nearby chair, accidentally jostling the book and causing something to fall out of the pages. She stooped down to pick up what looked like photographs. She sat back down to study what she was seeing, her mind running a million miles a minute trying to process all the new information. "As Tim Burton's Alice would say, things are getting curiouser and curiouser in this crazy little drama."

Claudia stared at the picture in her left hand that was a grainy black and white photograph which was obviously very old. In it she recognized Helena, but not the man gently holding her. Turning her head to look at the picture in her right hand, she recognized Helena and Myka. Smiling. Happy. Her heart clenched a little as she looked up from the picture to Myka. Staring back down at the picture she wondered how Helena was coping with the waiting and wondering if Myka would ever come back to them. "Maybe all the fighting with Pete helps relieve some of the pent up nervous energy," she muttered to herself as she tried to pinpoint exactly why the pictures seemed so similar despite the obvious fact that they were mostly likely taken a century apart. Claudia went through a mental checklist noting that Helena was present in both pictures, the moment captured seemed the same, the expressions on Myka's face and the strange man's face seemed the same, both Myka and the men held Helena the same way. "This all means something." Her eyes bounced from one picture to the other. "If only I could get all the pieces to fit together right."

"Would you stop murmuring to yourself and come look at this?" Artie snapped, before remembering his manners, "Please?" Grunting in frustration as her thoughts slipped away after her inner monologue was so suddenly interrupted, Claudia placed the photographs back into the middle of the book and returned the old, worn book to the shelf. Making a mental note to ask H.G. about the whole thing when the inventor returned. Her mind still caught up in what she had found Claudia absently wondered out loud, "Do you ever wonder the secrets H.G. is carrying around?" Artie turned his head to her, bushy eyebrow raised in silent question. "I mean, she's been alive almost a hundred and fifty years and she seems to keep everything to herself. I think the only person she has let close to her, in all this time, is Myka."

In a moment of rare disclosure, Artie shared his thoughts on that point, "Everybody has secrets. But, not everyone is as dangerous as our infamous H.G. Wells."

"Myka's been good for her. Why can't you trust her, for Myka's sake?" Claudia asked seriously.

"It's hard for me to trust someone that has more secrets than I do," he turned back to Myka, "but I have given Helena a chance because I trust Myka's judgment." Waving off anymore discussion along that line of thought, he abruptly changed the subject, "I want you to find out everything you can about this tattoo."

"When did Myka get that?" shock clearly evident in her voice, Claudia peered closely at the mark.

"It's a recent acquisition from Egypt," he answered as he studied the tattooed feather on the inside of Myka's right wrist.

Eyes locking onto the wrist, Claudia asked something that had been bothering her the entire week, "Artie," he looked up her, "do you find it odd that Mrs. F hasn't made a single appearance since this whole thing started?"

Artie looked back down at the feather of Ma'at burned into Myka's skin but did not answer.

* * *

><p>Sides aching from the constant pacing, Myka groaned painfully as she gingerly sat the body she was walking in into one of the chairs closest to her. Through the furious pacing, she had come to the conclusion that this was no different than when she had switched bodies with Pete. She tried not to worry about the glaring details that were different in the current situation versus the previous one. Mainly, the feather she had touched and subsequently the Egyptian deities she had encountered in Warehouse 2.<p>

Head and sides pounding in tandem with her heartbeat, Myka wished she had some more of the drugs that were in her system up until yesterday. Slumping in the chair, completely deflated, Myka considered how she was going to reverse the situation. Helena would obviously help. And the others would help, too. Her mind immediately supplied doubt. Where were the others? Why had no one but Helena been at her bedside?

The more Myka considered the questions running through her mind, the more muddled her thoughts became. Only Helena had been in to keep an eye on her (not counting the two men she had seen briefly a week before), but not the Helena she remembered.

Helena had been in and out helping with the broken ribs. She would sometimes sit and read, but she mostly sat quietly, not conversing with her as had become their custom. Helena seemed younger, somehow. Her eyes did not carry the weariness and pain she had come to associate with the brown depths. Her shoulders did not droop with the weight of grief. Myka was so lost in thought that she did not notice Helena opening the door and walking toward her.

Helena cleared her throat to get the young man's attention. He seemed deeply lost in thought and startled when he realized she was standing directly in front of him. "I did not mean to startle you," she apologized, "I knocked but when there was no answer I worried you may have injured yourself and could not call out."

Myka waved off the apology. Looking Helena once over, she spoke before she thought, "What are you wearing? Is it Halloween? Or are you pining for the 19th century?"

Looking down at herself, brow wrinkled in confusion, Helena did not know whether she should take offense, "I am not quite sure what to make of your questions." Deciding his injury warranted clemency, she took no offense. "I see the clothes I brought you fit you well enough."

"Yeah, just a little snug. I could have just borrowed something of Pete's. This kind of looks like it was made circa a century ago; like you dug it out of your brother's closet," Myka responded. Hearing how ungrateful her words sounded out loud, she quickly added, "But thank you, I do appreciate it."

Helena looked at him curiously. "Right," she responded when silence stretched between them, "would you like some tea?" At his nod, she turned and indicated he should follow her.

Moving as fast as her still healing body would take her, Myka trailed behind Helena. "Where are the others?" She asked walking down the stairs slowly.

Helena turned to him making sure he did not injure his ribs as he made his way down the stairs, "Kataranga is at the Warehouse. At least, I assume he is. He rarely leaves it. And, MacShane is most likely at home with his wife and children."

"I meant Pete, Claudia, and Artie," Myka said as she stepped off the final step. "Even Leena." She looked around and really noticed her surroundings for the first time. Bewildered at what she saw, her voice tinged with confusion, "What happened to the Bed and Breakfast?"

Helena looked at Myka wondering what the poor man was referring to, "I have no idea to what you are referring." She turned, grasped Myka by the elbow, and led him to sit on one of the chairs by the fireplace. "Neither do I know any of the people you mentioned, nor this Bed and Breakfast you speak of. Are you sure you did not injure your head as well as your ribs in that explosion?" Helena tentatively reached out to touch Myka's temple at his suddenly pale complexion. "What is wrong?" Helena asked worry evident in her tone. "Did you aggravate your injury?"

Myka inadvertently ignored Helena, her gaze firmly fixed on the newspaper sitting on the table next to the chair. The only things that caught her attention, and had her riveted, were one word and four little numbers on the front page.

London 1890.

Myka could hear Pete's distinct voice echoing through her head: _Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore._


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: To say that the last couple of weeks have been busy would be an understatement of the greatest proportions, but I feel kinda terrible for not having time for this. So, I apologize for the long wait. I hope you enjoy this little chapter…that I wrote instead of doing my work, or my grading, or my research :-)

A/N2: Again thank you for all the reviews that have been left for this story. And, please don't take this the wrong way, but if you don't like the story don't read it. I would hate to put you off to my writing just because you don't like this particular story. I would hate to lose readers, but if you don't like the ideas, or the plot, or the details of the story please don't force yourself to read it. I am by no means writing this with any sort of social agenda, or otherwise. It's just a story, that I'm enjoying writing, and I sincerely hope you're enjoying reading. If you want my personal views on society, politics, religion, morality, or anything else feel free to PM me; I'm more than willing to discuss them with you.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

Snapping out of her shock as a soft hand landed delicately on her shoulder and gently shook her, Myka inclined her head toward Helena, but did not look up to face her. Taking the hand on her shoulder softly in hers, she noticed the stark difference in the size of their hands. Where normally Helena's hand was slightly smaller than her own, now Helena's hand was dwarfed in this new strange appendage that listened to her mind's commands. She considered their hands before Helena gently clasped their hands together and pulled her up from the chair. Myka resisted for a moment but acquiesced as Helena apparently wanted her on her feet.

Standing well within the bounds of each other's personal space, hands still clasped, Myka sighed and finally looked at the woman standing in front of her. _Really_ looked. Helena was as stunningly beautiful as she remembered, but much younger. The Helena she remembered was striking in her own right. She was strong, brilliant and unbelievably beautiful. But, the Helena Myka remembered also carried a constant burden on her shoulders; a weariness and exhaustion that always lurked just behind her eyes; the weight of grief ever present in her. This Helena, however, lacked all that world weariness. This Helena had the same carriage, but none of the injuries that wounded her soul. The same curiosity without the burden of knowledge of curiosities answered.

Her eyes cutting down the length of the woman, an obvious epiphany hit Myka: Helena had not lived through all the terrible things that happened in her life yet. This woman had not yet tasted the bitterness of grief and the ashes of loss. Unconsciously licking her lips as she raked her eyes up the woman's body, Myka also realized how very much attracted and in love with this woman she was, or at least her memories of this woman.

Heart suddenly thudding loudly in her ears, Myka's eyes made another (much slower) pass over Helena. This gaze was one of appreciation and not of study or scrutiny. Not realizing, or considering far enough ahead to care, how Helena may interpret the ogling, Myka slowly ran her eyes up the completely covered figure.

She devoured Helena with her eyes from the dainty feet she knew to be under the deep blue flowing skirt (encased in, what she assumed, were lace up boots) to the small waist where the flow of the skirt tapered. Up the flat stomach covered in a stark white blouse, that while billowy, when tucked into the skirt, accented Helena's tiny waist while simultaneously showing off her bust. A place where Myka's eyes stopped and seemed glued to. She knew what lay beneath the whole ensemble before her and her thoughts readily turned to imagining exactly what lay beneath the lovely vision before her. And without prompting, Myka's mind immediately supplied the feel of Helena against her. The taste of Helena's essence on her tongue. The sound of Helena falling over the edge.

Swallowing thickly at the very familiar scenario playing in surround sound as she stared fixedly at Helena's chest, Myka could feel the tell tale signs of arousal quickly coursing through her. She swore she literally felt all her blood supply suddenly diverted to the juncture of her legs. That sensation was not completely unfamiliar but the sudden hardening of a _very_ unfamiliar member arrested all her mental faculties.

Quickly turning away from Helena, Myka involuntarily clenched her fists as she tried to get herself under control. _This can't be happening_, her mind raged, _not now. Oh god. No, no, no!_ her mind screamed at her new body's refusal to calm down. Cringing as she looked down, Myka tried thinking of something, anything, that would stop her quickly rising problem.

Thoughts of doing taxes, mundane paperwork, Warehouse inventory, and several other dull activities helped slightly, but the exercise in control was mostly offset by Helena's presence behind her. Groaning softly, Myka changed her tactics to imagining people to whom she was not attracted. _Pete_, her mind readily supplied. Pete kissing her body when she was trapped in the mirror. Being in Pete's body for the artifact induced body switch. _Well, I guess this isn't that novel of an experience given my history_, she thought wryly. A picture of Pete kissing Helena appeared in her mind's eye staunching her arousal, but igniting an immediate and powerful feeling of jealousy. _Woah_, she shook her head. _Relax_, she told her borrowed body, _she's not mine_.

An utterly bewildered Helena looked on at the scene playing out in front of her thinking she was somehow missing a vital piece of information. Though this stranger's behavior was more than a little perplexing, Helena felt no danger from this man. She was, in fact, greatly intrigued by him. He piqued her interest. There was something indefinable about him that pulled at her heartstrings; he seemed so lost sometimes. And, not entirely understanding why, she wanted to alleviate that for him. She had only known the man for a little over a week, but the way he called out her name in his fever induced dreams touched her. It was evident he was very much in love with whoever his Helena was. She had a sneaking suspicion that he thought her to be that Helena. She had to know more about this man. "How do you know me?" curiosity laced the Victorian woman's voice. "I do not believe we have ever met."

Myka shifted uncomfortably, her back still to Helena. She was embarrassed. Moreover, now that she was not drugged, or otherwise impaired, she did not know exactly how to respond to this Helena. A Helena who she was very much in love with, but who did not know her. And even if Helena had known her, she would not be able to recognize her in this body she was trapped in.

Now sufficiently calmed down, Myka turned back around to face Helena. Looking down into eyes shining with curiosity, she knew she would not be able to outright lie to the woman. She did not want to, but she knew she could not simply divulge everything. Momentarily forgetting her situation, Myka lifted her hand to twirl a lock of hair while she thought only to be brought up short as she felt only air where her hair normally fell. She instead ran her hand through short, dark curls in silent frustration. Mind coming back to Helena, Myka worried her bottom lip as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She opened her mouth, but closed it again at the inadequacy of what she was about to say.

At the arched eyebrow she received from Helena (and the amusement that was threatening to take over her face), Myka blurted out the first thing that popped into her head, "It's complicated. And convoluted. And I can't entirely explain it all." She rolled her eyes at herself and blew out a puff of breath. "Mostly, because I don't exactly know what's going on myself," she mumbled to no one in particular.

"And that answers my question not at all," Helena noted immediately, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Myka smiled involuntarily at the familiar tone in Helena's voice. She shrugged and shook her head slightly; smile still firmly in place and broadening as Helena's lips turned up in a smile with her. A smile from Helena and the situation now felt a little more comfortable for Myka. She did not have the faintest idea of how Helena had the ability to make everything better without really doing anything but being present.

"I seem to have lost my way home," Myka said softly, in lieu of an actual explanation, while looking deeply into brown depths, "perhaps you're just a vision of a dream I dreamt to make my existence a little easier to bear."

"It could be that I am here to help you find your way," Helena replied just as softly, staring intently into Myka's green gaze. "Dreams are often more substantial than reality. And, I find them more fascinating than anything this world has to offer."

A knock disrupted the moment. Myka could hear one of the servants making their way to attend the door. She knew Helena would not be bothered unless it was specifically for her, but she stepped back from the woman nonetheless. Myka needed distance and time to think. She was not sure what she was doing, but the very possibility that she was flirting with this Helena scared her. She did not want to affect anything before she got back to her own time. Whatever, she did could be detrimental to the future. She had to be careful.

Helena moved to close the distance between them, but was halted in her effort as a servant came in to announce she had a visitor. Nodding her thanks to the servant, Helena turned to Myka apology written all over her face at the interruption. Myka nodded her understanding. "We shall continue this later," Helena asked more than stated.

"Yes," Myka affirmed distractedly. "I'll be up in my room," she said, walking by Helena (making sure not to touch her in any way). Helena looked on as Myka quickly exited the room, wondering what had caused the hasty departure.

* * *

><p>"Your affinity for trouble is astounding," Helena casually informed Pete as a shot blasted the wood above their heads to little more than splinters. Their heads swiveled simultaneously to take in the damage, while they shrunk lower behind the crate they were crouched behind.<p>

"Well if that's not the pot calling the kettle black," Pete grumbled pulling out his Telsa in preparation to end this supposedly easy snag, tag and bag operation. "You're the one who offended her and got us in this predicament in the first place," he whispered harshly as he peeked around to see where the crazy, rifle wielding woman had gone.

"I did no such thing," Helena shot back indignantly, pulling out her own weapon to follow whatever lead Pete took. "I was talking to her civilly before you barged right in and interrupted us."

Pete looked over at Helena with his mouth hanging open. "She had a rifle to your head, with her trigger itchy finger ready to blast you away," Pete responded loudly as he mimed the motions to better demonstrate his point. He braced for some sort of hit as saw Helena's hands quickly making their way to the proximity of his face. He did not even attempt to block whatever she was planning on doing. After the swing he had taken at her in Warehouse 2, he swore to himself that he would never raise a hand to touch her again. Myka would kill him. Though, considering how easily she had stopped him, Pete well knew that Helena could more than handle herself in any situation.

He was confused when all he felt Helena do was pull him by the collar of his shirt and swing him to the other side of the crate they were hiding behind. Opening eyes he did not realize he had closed, Pete saw, almost in slow motion, the spot he had just vacated burst into a pile of splintered wood. A wide hole marking the place his back was placed on before Helena moved him over.

"Do lower your voice before her aims gets much better, Agent Lattimer," Helena whispered falling back on formality as real worry gripped her. Pete, wide-eyed, only nodded. Pulling himself together, he decided now was not the time to worry about anything other than the artifact that was currently in the hands of a woman who thought herself Calamity Jane.

"So, what's the plan?" Pete asked, making sure his Telsa was ready.

Helena peeked over the side of the crate to get the position of the artifact. Indicating the position of the woman, Helena tucked her Telsa into the back of pants. "I'll distract her while you take her out," she said simply.

"No," Pete replied, "that's too dangerous."

"You are a better marksman, Peter," she said calmly. She looked him straight in the eye, "Do not miss." He nodded as she made her way from behind the crate.

Hands raised and walking slowly, Helena hoped she did not meet her end in a dirty barn in the middle of nowhere. "Do not shoot," rang around the enclosure, "I am unarmed."

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here, unarmed and unescorted?" came a voice from behind her. Helena felt the muzzle of a rifle placed firmly between her shoulder blades. "Where's the other one? The one without the manners?"

"That would be me," Pete said shooting the woman with the Telsa set at the highest setting. She crumpled to the floor, landing in an undignified heap. Pete quickly moved to take the rifle out her hands. He handed it off to Helena so he could check that the woman was not actually harmed. "I thought Calamity Jane never maliciously killed anyone," Pete said as he checked the woman over. "How is it her rifle, that is apparently endued with her personality, can cause a regular Sally Mae here to turn into a rifle wielding crazy woman who shoots first and asks questions later?" Inspection complete, Pete stood and unfurled a specially sized artifact bag for the rifle.

"When you let something fester for over a hundred years, who is to say how it will come out when finally unleashed?" Helena muttered absentmindedly as she held the old rifle in her gloved hands. Handing the artifact off to Pete, she turned to walk out of the barn, "I will be in the car."

* * *

><p>Alone again in the safety of her temporary room, Myka slumped against the door. She breathed out a deep sigh as the back of her head thudded against the door. She felt so off kilter. Closing her eyes against the reality she found herself in, Myka fought the sting of tears. Gritting her teeth against the constriction of her throat, she pushed off the door and made her way to the window. She felt so helpless in this time and place that were so far from her own.<p>

Looking out into the cobbled stoned streets of a London she had only ever seen in paintings and pictures, Myka felt despair pull at her. "How did this happen?" She whispered harshly to no one in particular. "How could a feather do this?" shaking her head at her remembered foolishness at touching the feather in Warehouse 2.

Her eyes dropped to take in the horizon once more. Resting her forehead against the glass, she closed her eyes and remembered the leafy boscage behind Leena's Bed and Breakfast that gave way to rolling hills and meadows. She could clearly picture the bright hues of autumn overtaking the green leaves of summer, and walking through the colorful landscape hand in hand with Helena telling her how it all reminded her of Colorado, of home, of the best part of her childhood. "I need to find a way home," she breathed onto the glass, fogging up and obscuring the view of London.

* * *

><p>Claudia's fingers tapped a furious staccato over the keyboard. Her eyes flying back and forth as she scrolled through the information on the screen. Coming to the end of the file, Claudia sat completely still trying to digest the information before her. Artie looked up from the file he was reading at the sudden silence filling the room. Turning to face the young woman, Artie felt an uneasy feeling grip him.<p>

"What is it?"Artie asked getting up and closing the short distance between them to read over Claudia's shoulder. "What did you find?"

"If the feather is an artifact," Claudia moved closer to the screen, rereading several lines of text, "which I don't think it is," she shook her head slowly in disbelief, "there's no way to neutralize it." She moved the curser down to show Artie what she found, "But somehow I don't think that's the biggest thing we have to worry about."

Artie's brows furrowed deeply above his glasses as he read the line where the curser stopped and blinked continuously.

_Last known incident: Myka O. Bering, 1890- Sealed Confidential File (Regent Authorization Required)_


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the delay…I was shopping and attempting to wrap gifts for my gazillion family members. A word to the wise: never, ever leave your Christmas shopping for the week of Christmas. It is absolutely crazy. And again, thank you for the absolutely wonderful reviews. They seriously make me smile when I read them Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it!

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><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

The roar of the engine was the only sound that permeated the deafening silence. Both figures sat stiffly, staring straight ahead at the rolling landscape. Neither Pete not Helena wanted to be the one to back down from the argument that had yet to be resolved since they left the B&B.

The teamwork and trust they had shown each other in the barn as they apprehended Calamity Jane's rifle seemed to have disappeared in the wake of the situation to which they were returning. Pete sighed quietly gripping the steering wheel in a white-knuckled hold. It would be hours before they got back to Leena's. He debated if he should disturb the silence and risk an argument.

The silence stretched on. Helena staunchly ignored the quiet sighs that punctured the stillness, not out of actual desire for the silence to continue but more from lack of anything to say. She had no wish to continue to fight with Pete but the man seemed to be directly contrary to everything she wanted (solely on principle if not direct opposition). Quietly sighing her own dissatisfaction, Helena's heart thumped a slow, aching beat. She missed Myka now more than ever. The younger woman knew how to translate her intent to all parties. Without her, Helena could not seem to see eye to eye with anyone on the team. Staring fixedly out of the window, Helena lost herself in thought, almost missing the moment Pete began speaking.

"Thank you," Pete said softly, his voice breaking the widening silence that separated them like a great chasm. His eyes skidded to briefly take in Helena's profile. "Thank you," he repeated after a beat, slightly louder, "for saving me back there." He could only handle silence for so long, and he had exhausted all his patience with it on Helena. He knew they needed to work together to get Myka back. He just hated backing down when he was right, but his pride would take a backseat to his desire to save his best friend.

"Contrary to apparently popular belief, I do not want to see you harmed Peter," Helena said after contemplating his statement for a moment. "Myka would kill me if I knowingly let something happen to you," she mumbled, almost as an afterthought.

The first real ghost of a smile in over a week graced Pete's lips at Helena's admission. "She's gotcha on a short leash, huh?" He teased, trying to dissipate the still palpable tension in the car.

Accepting the olive branch Pete was extending to her, but still momentarily confused at his statement, Helena mulled over a suitable response. "No leash involved," she said after the silence began to stretch again, "or necessary."

Pete made a motion as if cracking a whip and accompanied it with the appropriate sound as a small smile curved his lips. Helena merely lifted her brows and slanted her eyes his way before turning back to the passing landscape, "Myka does have an affinity to taking the lead," a faint, sad smile touched her lips, "and I find that I do not mind letting her."

"And while that is fascinating information," Pete lobbed back, intrigued despite himself, "I doubt Myka would want you divulging the _things_ she has a particularly special type of affinity toward."

Helena barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the overgrown boy next to her, "Did anyone ever tell you that you have an exceptionally vivid imagination?" Pete shrugged noncommittally, allowing a much more comfortable silence to descend upon them.

Helena finally turned away from the rolling plains outside her window and looked at Pete's profile. She considered the man for a moment. Pete really was a good man. He could be more stubborn than a mule, but he was loyal to those he loved. He was loyal to Myka. She could not fault him that. At the moment, his stubborn loyalty presented more problems than she wanted. But, she needed his help in getting Myka back. So, she prepared to extend a peace offering of her own. "Thank you as well, Peter," she said sincerely, no teasing in her tone, "for saving my life in turn."

"Are you kidding me," he replied playfully, "I was saving my own hide. Myka would have my head on a platter if anything happened to you."

"I see we are both submitted to the same woman," Helena observed, knowing she had touched on a sensitive subject when Pete tensed perceptibly.

"We made a good team, didn't we?" Pete asked, avoiding meeting Helena's eyes as he tried to avoid her previous statement.

"Surprisingly," she glibly responded.

"Well, look at us, bonding over mutual appreciation of saving one another's lives," Pete said a bit mockingly, automatically going on the defensive after Helena's statement.

Looking hard at the man next to her, Helena mentally prepared to broach a subject she felt she did not have enough energy to pursue. Knowing, however, that they had to move past this particular barrier in order to work together, she proceeded, with unerring accuracy, to pierce the problem at hand. "She is mine, Pete," she enunciated clearly so there would be no mistaking what she was saying, even using the shortened version of his name to get her point across. "She chose me," she said it softly but firmly. Her intent not to injure the man, but to have him understand.

"Myka loves you dearly; she loves you deeply. But, she is not in love with you Pete. Myka is in love with me. And, I with her. I do not wish to continue this pissing contest with you," she expelled on a weary tone, "I just want to bring her home. And to do so, I need your help. So, please do stop this petty competition where you measure yourself against me," Helena softened her tone to take as much sting out of her words as possible, "I am not sorry that I am the victor in this, but I am truly sorry that you are in love with someone you cannot have."

Helena ploughed ahead, wanting to finish now that she had started. "I know you do not like me. And much of that dislike stems from Myka's choice. Another part of that is that you do not know me, or care to know me. But, at least for the next little while, you need to set that aside and help me figure out a way to save Myka." She averted her eyes after taking in Pete's clenched jaw, rigid back, and fisted hands; she afforded the man as much privacy as she could given their confined space.

After a tense several moments, Pete pulled over at the first rest stop they came upon. He parked hazardously, killed the engine and stepped out of the SUV without a word. He slammed the door as he walked off in the direction of the small stone building that housed the restrooms and vending machines. Helena let her head fall against the dashboard and released a heavy sigh. "That certainly could have gone better," she whispered.

Anxious energy coursing through her, Helena exited the vehicle and breathed in the crisp air dispelling some of the built up tension in her body. She could feel the cold carried on the wind. Winter was creeping in with quiet but insistent subtlety. She hugged her coat closer to her body attempting to keep the chill at bay. Looking over at the building Pete had disappeared into, Helena debated whether she should follow him but quickly decided against it. He needed a moment away from the scrutiny.

Following the well worn path on the other side of the pavement where the SUV was parked, Helena walked a short distance until she was surrounded by still green grass. Gazing across the distance she took a moment to simply enjoy the beautiful colors of autumn she could see visible in the distant woods. The sun, still rising from its eastern perch, shining brightly on the valley, illuminated the natural beauty all around her. She closed her eyes against the feeling of hollow loneliness the scene in front of her engendered in her soul. She startled slightly as a hand landed on her shoulder pulling her attention back to the present.

Pete handed Helena a bottle of water before promptly plopping down on the grass and fiddling with the cap of his own bottle. He looked out across the valley lost in thought for a moment as Helena sat herself beside him gently. Pete finally looked over at Helena, who cocked her head to be able to look him in the eye. Seeing the pain and sadness in his gaze almost made her want to look away.

"I know," he began softly looking away from Helena's eyes, "that she's yours." He blew out a short breath before taking a sip of his water. "It's never been like that between me and Myka," he continued, "she's never…" He trailed off shaking his head. "Even before you," he cut his eyes to glance at Helena, "Myka has never been interested. And, I haven't really ever seriously considered it," he said in a slightly defeated tone. "But, it's hard not to be a little bit in love with her," he finished so softly, Helena would have thought she imagined it had she not been looking into his eyes.

He tried to smile as he shifted his eyes away again but it came off more as a grimace. Helena understood, so she gave him as much time as he needed while he composed himself after his confession. Pete took another drink of water, giving himself more time before he continued. "You and I are more alike than you think Helena," he said after some time, not needing to see Helena's raised eyebrow to know she was giving him an incredulous look.

"You have this darkness inside you that you try to hide with charisma and bravado," he could see Helena's face shift into a blank mask the longer he spoke. "It eats away at you constantly, and you allow it free reign." He shifted so he was facing her. "I admit that I'm extremely protective over Myka, and that may play a role in why I innately distrust you." Helena gave him a look, "Okay, it definitely plays a role in it." He held up his hands to concede the point. "But, that's not the main reason."

Helena nodded at him to continue. "It's the fact that you have the potential to be a very dangerous woman. And the longer you allow whatever keeps eating at you to grow, the more solid that potential becomes. Despite any appearances otherwise, Helena, I am not a stupid man. Neither am I ignorant nor inexperienced. I know you think you don't deserve Myka," he tried seeing through Helena's exceptional poker face, "and you really don't," at that something flashed in her eyes but she still remained quiet. "But, Myka knows you better than anyone. She knows you have the capacity to be very dangerous, and all she can see is good in you. Trust her. She is never wrong." Helena lowered her gaze at those words, her mask slipping slightly as the truth of his words cut deep.

"What I don't understand," Pete continued, "is why you fight so hard against it?" He looked at her bewildered. "Myka is so in love with you, and it's apparent you are as in love with her as she is with you," he scrunched his eyebrows, "so why play with her?"

"It is complicated. And convoluted. And I cannot entirely explain it all." A pained look flashed across Helena's features as she gave the answer almost automatically. "Mostly, because I do not rightly know all that is transpiring myself," she finished, looking away from Pete's probing eyes. She was quickly finding out that the man was entirely too skilled at reading people.

"That really doesn't answer my question," he shook his head at her, slowly rising to his feet. Helena, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu, looked up as he extended a hand to help her up. "We still have an eight hour drive ahead of us," Pete said clasping Helena's smaller hand in his, "you can give me the highlights of your complicated, convoluted story."

Helena sighed but nodded her assent, "I will do my best to be concise. I have a feeling I know exactly where Myka has gone, but I am at loss as how to retrieve her."

"First," Pete said pulling out his Farnsworth as they walked back to the SUV, "let's call and check in with Artie. Claudia could've already hacked her way to an answer."

* * *

><p>"They knew Artie," Claudia said furiously. "They know. Even now," she was sitting still in one of the dining room chairs but her eyes burned with pent up energy and steely anger. "They've known this whole frakking time and that's why we haven't seen hide nor hair of them," Claudia was working herself into a rage, "or Mrs. Frederic." Her loyalties always in the people she loved and trusted, Claudia could not fathom how the higher ups had somehow managed to forget to mention the very conspicuous fact that one Myka O. Bering was present in the Warehouse at two different intervals in time one hundred years apart.<p>

Artie's mind raced with implications and possible ramifications of what they had discovered. If their Myka was also the Myka in the sealed file, things had the possibility of becoming very complicated very quickly. A big part of him agreed with Claudia's anger over the situation. But, he was old enough to know that things were not always what they first appeared to be. "There must be a reason," he spoke into the now quiet room.

"Whatever their reason, it's not good enough," Claudia exploded into motion pacing back and forth making Artie dizzy in her frenzied motion. He was thankful when the girl's Farnsworth went off in the adjacent room. Belatedly realizing that the caller could only be Pete and Helena, Artie quickly moved to try and intercept the ball of furious energy about to divulge everything they had learned to the two people who would turn the world upside down for Myka. He was decidedly more concerned about Helena's reaction, hers being an unknown factor in the grand scheme of things.

"Claudia," Artie spoke from behind the door separating the dining room and the living room, "we need to be careful what we tell Helena," he rushed through the door.

"What is it you cannot tell me?" Helena's distinct voice came through the tiny speaker on the Farnsworth.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I apologize for the _very_ lengthy hiatus

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Claudia opened her mouth to tell Helena exactly what she found out, still too incensed to think of the negative consequences of divulging the information. Artie reached the young woman before she could utter a word, swiping the Farnsworth from her hands.

"Nothing," he said gruffly, "that can't wait until you two get back." He promptly cut off the connection and closed the Farnsworth. Claudia walked over and angrily swiped the Farnsworth back from Artie; an arched eyebrow and thin lipped scowl clearly projecting a what-the-hell look at the older man.

Artie sighed, sliding his glasses up onto his head before rubbing his face in exasperation. "Think with me," he spoke toward the young woman, his eyes closed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to staunch the oncoming headache he could feel building behind his right eye. Opening his eyes to see Claudia with her arms crossed defensively and still looking decidedly upset, Artie tried to make her understand, "What would Pete do with this information?"

Claudia narrowed her eyes at him trying to see where he was going with that particular line of thought. Rolling her eyes at him she decided to just go with it and answer Artie's question, "He would get pissed about whatever the hell the Regents were thinking. He'd probably rant and rave until he tired himself out," she rolled her eyes at herself and shook her red mane, "kinda like I'm doing. And then he would try and figure out what exactly this all even means." She made an all encompassing gesture with her hands. "And then, we would all make a plan on how to use this info to bring Myka back."

Artie nodded, agreeing with her. "What would Helena do?" The young woman opened her mouth to reply, floundering for an appropriate answer; silence stretched between them. Snapping her mouth shut, Claudia stared at Artie with an unsure expression marring her features. "Exactly," Artie whispered almost to himself.

After a tense moment, Claudia shook her head running a hand through her short hair in frustration, "Okay, Artie," she lowered her arms, blowing out a short breath, "I get it. My bad alright," she waved her hand dismissively, "I probably shouldn't have mentioned anything to HG." She moved to exit the room, "She was gonna find out anyway. And, I'd much rather tell her and have her on our side than she find out we hid it from her, too."

Artie surprised Claudia by grabbing her shoulder and spinning her around to face him, "I don't think you appreciate the very real threat HG could be if given the proper motivation, Claudia," he sounded almost frantic.

"Whoa there old man," Claudia lifted her hands in the universal sign of surrender, strongly staunching the urge retaliate to his grip with force. "HG isn't the bad guy here, Artie," she tried to reason, noting the real worry on his features.

"She's just a time displaced genius with an emotionally unstable psyche whose lover is in some sort of temporal coma that the super secret entity she works for has known about for over a hundred years," Artie's eyes bored into her as he released her. "You don't have to be a bad guy to do bad things," he sighed heavily, "sometimes circumstances can drive you past a certain point where you can't distinguish good from bad."

"Speaking from experience?" she asked picking up her Farnsworth, avoiding Artie's stare.

"I think we both know what that feels like," he replied softly after a moment's pause.

Claudia turned to him and shrugged the comment off, "So what do we do about this?"

"We start by asking Mrs. Frederic," Artie motioned to the figure that had appeared behind Claudia, "the very same question."

* * *

><p>Pete slowly closed the Farnsworth, "That was weird," he stretched out the word, "even for Artie." He looked over at Helena who had an inscrutable expression on her face. "What do you make of it?" He asked almost as an afterthought, trying to not immediately shut the other woman out. They needed to work together or nothing was going to get accomplished. He was willing to concede the high ground and be the one to initiate conversation, knowing Helena would likely not be the more forthcoming one of the two.<p>

"I haven't the faintest idea," Helena shrugged at the other agent, uncomfortable with the unexpected and inexplicable feeling of dread that gripped her. It worried her that Artie felt the need to hide something. She knew the man distrusted her and was, at the best of times, not the most open person but something about this situation felt different, and she was much too deeply invested in Myka to ignore the uneasy feeling coursing through her.

"Whatever it was," Pete grunted as he heaved himself into the driver seat of the SUV, "it's giving me a bad vibe."

Helena followed suit into the SUV (albeit much more gracefully), lost in her own thoughts. The silence stretched between them for a few miles out of the rest area, not nearly as uncomfortable as the suffocating silence of the first leg of the trip back to the Warehouse.

Trying to fill the silence, as quiet was not his natural state, Pete fiddled with the radio before giving up when all the stations were little more than static. Sighing dramatically he looked over at Helena who had a brow arched at his behavior (slightly amused despite herself). "What?" he whined, wanting to stick out his tongue at the woman but refraining in an attempt at maturity. Helena raised her other brow, shaking her head at his antics, before she turned away ready to ignore him for the remainder of the trip. Pete finally gave into his childish pique and stuck his tongue out at Helena's turned head.

The action inadvertently made him think of Myka. The thought immediately sobered him. Becoming serious, Pete cleared his throat, "So," he waited until Helena turned her head back toward him, "I'm all ears HG. What's your version of what's going on?"

Releasing a heavy sigh, Helena turned to look at the rolling planes lazily extending to the horizon, "I am unsure where to begin."

"The beginning," Pete retorted sarcastically, "is usually a good place to start."

Ignoring his tone, Helena continued to look out to the horizon in contemplation. "How does one know where the beginning is when past and present seem to converge in a confusing kaleidoscope of color, merging and blurring the lines where one distinctly separates from the other?" she asked in honest wonder. "I only hope our future is hidden somewhere in this as well," she muttered in resigned defeat, tone contradicting the words.

Pete furrowed his brow in confusion, grunting in consternation when he could not dissect the meaning of the inventor's words, feeling he was missing an integral piece to the puzzle. "I'm not sure I follow," he finally admitted.

Helena waved off his statement, already lost in memories of a life long past. "It had been an unbearably cold winter," Helena began, settling into the mode of a storyteller, voice comfortably dropping into a deep alto with tempered cadence, eyes glazed as the reel of memory played across her retina, "and it was coming on spring of 1890, which promised to be as unpredictable as most springs in London tend to be."

"1890? I thought we were talking about Myka," Pete tried cutting in only to be completely ignored by the woman. "Okay then," he mumbled to himself, "I'll just sit here and listen."

"Rain was the most consistent thing that spring. Which was actually quite a blessing as it gave me an excuse to tend to the stranger that had seemingly fallen straight out of the sky into my lap by the name of Myka O. Bering," Helena was too lost in memory to notice the visible shock crossing Pete's face. At the name, he immediately dispelled any wondering thoughts and focused his attention on the unraveling story falling from Helena's lips, listening raptly.

"In the days and weeks following the night MacShane and I found him, the inclement weather allowed Myka to heal properly." Pete was not quite sure he heard the gender Helena was referring to Myka correctly. He would have asked for clarification but Helena did not give him any room to ask questions, she simply plowed ahead as if he was not the one and only audience to whom she was telling the story. "In that time, we acquired something resembling a friendship, though it seemed that Myka was extremely resistant to the idea of more than polite detachment from anyone and everyone."

Helena smiled sadly, finally understanding Myka's reluctance. "I was not just anyone, though," she admitted in a tone approximating guilt, "and Myka was too much a mystery for me not to take an undue amount of interest in." Pete nodded unconsciously, barely noticing every passing mile, already fully engrossed in the unfolding tale. "Myka was easy to interrogate and prod into more than polite detachment once we were partnered together by Caturanga," Helena smiled fondly at the memory of her mentor. "Except for the occasional teasing remark, MacShane was unbelievably unperturbed by the whole ordeal. I think he was just happy to be able to spend more time with his family."

"Your partner didn't mind you all of sudden being partnered with somebody else?" Pete asked quickly as Helena took a small pause.

The woman shook her head absently. "MacShane and I were not really partners," Helena tried to explain, "we were simply colleagues that sometimes partnered up for certain investigations." Pete gave a small nod of understanding, prompting the inventor to continue.

"When Myka's ribs were sufficiently healed after the explosion at the deserted warehouse we found him," Helena continued, falling back into a rhythmic lilt, "we took the opportunity of a clear day to meet Caturanga in Warehouse 12." Helena's voice took on a different, slightly more intimate tone making Pete feel like he was intruding on some private moment, "As unpredictable as the weather tends to be in the spring, we should have known it was inevitable to get caught in a downpour."

* * *

><p>Myka closed the book with a soft thud. Her head making a second thud as her forehead hit the closed cover of the book. Turning to look at the mark on her right wrist, she tried to temper the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that threatened to drown her. Closing her eyes and sighing heavily, Myka struggled to ignore the incessant voice in the back of her mind telling her she was never going to find a way home.<p>

She had exhausted the Wells library in search of anything to help her figure out what, exactly, the feather of Ma'at tattoo branded onto her wrist meant. All her research had turned up nothing. Instead of answers she was finding dead ends. She needed access to Warehouse files. Those were sure to have some sort of explanation for her current situation. Myka was willing to try anything to mitigate the growing sense of frustration at her predicament.

Bolstering her courage, Myka straightened back up (grateful when only the barest uncomfortable twinge resonated through her ribcage, not paralyzing pain). She worried her bottom lip as she absently traced the tattoo with the fingertips of her left hand. _What does this mean?_ Her brow furrowed in contemplation as she tried to remember all her Egyptian lore. _Why London? Why 1890? Why Warehouse 12?_ Cutting her eyes to a silver ornament reflecting her imagine, Myka stared hard at the reflection. _Why this body? Why in such close proximity to Helena? _She had so many questions, and not a single answer.

Gently leaning against the desk, Helena startled Myka out of her thoughts. Green eyes abruptly shifted to hold a twinkling brown gaze. "Ms. Wells," Myka breathed out, her body unconsciously shifting to lend Helena her full attention, "is there something I can do for you?" She cringed inwardly at the suggestive tone her voice took on when uttering the question and the amused smirk Helena shot her way at hearing it. She took in a deep breath to dispel any thoughts in a wayward direction and to calm her rapidly beating heart. Myka realized her mistake a second too late as Helena's scent assaulted her senses making her almost lightheaded. The tenuous control she had gained over the body she was walking in quickly slipping (as it always seemed to do when around Helena), Myka shifted a bit uncomfortably under the prolonged brown stare.

"Mr. Bering," Helena said as she shifted, completely heedless of propriety, to sit herself atop the desk no more than a few inches from a man that was little more than a stranger, "don't you think we are quite past the point of formalities?"

Myka absently noted the question but did not answer, her attention riveted on the woman herself. Swallowing thickly and feeling distinctly constricted and warm underneath the collar of the shirt she was wearing Myka averted her eyes from the beguiling woman looking down at her. Green eyes no longer caught in a brown gaze wondered away from Helena's face (with the intent of focusing on the scene of the sun peeking out from behind heavy clouds outside the window) only to be diverted south of the woman's head.

Helena was in very form fitting suit sans jacket; the trousers, vest, and oxford shirt under the vest all wrapped around the woman perfectly. Several thoughts crossed Myka's mind as she digested the outfit draped over Helena's curves: _suit fetish_, she discarded that quickly; _Victorian fetish_, she considered that for a moment before discarding that as well; _Helena fetish_, and she could not really argue that point unless she blatantly lied to herself. Groaning Myka forced herself to meet Helena's eyes and focus on what the woman was saying.

Helena's eyes narrowed, "Do you have a problem with my outfit?"

Myka floundered, flustered at being caught. "Uhh, no," she started, straightening in the chair, "of course not." She cleared her throat, "I was just admiring how," Myka paused trying to find the appropriate word, "dashing you look." It was the apparently the right thing to say because Helena just smiled and continued as if she had not asked that question. Myka heaved a sigh of relief.

"How do you go from expounding on the merits of my beauty with a frightening familiarity to the constraints of polite formality?" Helena asked continuing a conversation that they never seemed to finish, mostly because the man would not deign to answer any of her questions. Myka flinched at the accusation, more so because it was true. "Who are you?" She asked bluntly. "And how do you know me?"

"You are nothing, if not persistent," Myka mumbled to herself, shifting back in her chair to have a little more personal space to think. "Helena," Myka said the name reverently, "I'm Myka Bering." Helena rolled her eyes at that answer, saying without words that she knew Myka's name but a name was not what she was asking for. "I want to tell you everything," Myka sighed, trying to appease the woman but finding herself unable to give her what she wanted, "but I can't."

"It is Warehouse related," Helena stated more than asked.

Myka nodded, knowing it was much too late to hide the fact that she knew about the Warehouse. She figured she needed the Warehouse resources to get back home anyway, so she needed to divulge the fact that she knew about it eventually. And, she honestly did not want to lie to Helena.

"How do you work for the Warehouse without Caturanga knowing about it?" Helena leaned slightly closer to a retreating Myka.

"It's complicated," Myka said in a rush.

"So you have already mentioned," Helena countered, easing off slightly. "Perhaps if you explained it to me, it would lose some of its complexity," Helena said exasperation seeping into her tone.

Myka immediately felt guilty, her face taking on a contrite expression.

Helena softened at the obvious predicament the young man seemed to be caught in. _How is that he is keeping something of so much import hidden and I am the one who acquiesces and backs down every time?_ Helena was chagrined at her own behavior. She could not seem to find it in herself to distrust the young man, however. He was a stranger, though she was working to at least make him a friend, but she felt a strange connection with him. She was not sure if the connection was spurred from the young man (who obviously knew her, somehow) or if it stemmed from her own person. In either case, she was intrigued. She loved mysteries.

Helena slid off the desk, picking up the book Myka had been reading and stepping over to the bookshelf to put it away. "Come on, then," she said over her shoulder, "let's go to the Warehouse and see if Caturanga can be of more use than these books for whatever it is you are attempting to find out."

Myka rose slowly, not quite sure if she was off the hook completely. She felt as if Helena was just waiting on the proper moment to pounce for more information, but she could not deny the desire to find out what she could garner from the Warehouse archives. So, knowing she really had no choice, Myka trailed after Helena. Each grabbed their coats before stepping out into a cold, wet spring day.

"We're walking?" Myka asked somewhat surprised.

"It is not terribly far," Helena responded, "and you could use the exercise after being mostly bedridden for the past couple of weeks."

"What if it starts raining again?" Myka looked up at the approaching dark, heavy rain clouds that marred the western horizon.

"Let's hope it does not," Helena said impishly, a smirk pulling at her lips, "or that we can outrun any inclement weather."

Myka shrugged and fell into step with Helena.

A mile into their walk the sky opened up and caught the two travelers in a downpour.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Here's the next chapter. Thank you to all still reading this story and encouraging me to continue it. I will have spotty internet connection for the next two weeks, but I will do my best to update at least once during that time.

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

Mrs. Frederic lightly traced the tattoo on Myka's wrist, her finger burned at the meeting of energies.

"That would be an uncomfortable sensation for her if she were awake," Isis spoke to the caretaker of the Warehouse.

"I know," Mrs. Frederic replied lifting her finger, "I was only confirming the tattoo was an acquisition from the feather and not some other source."

"My presence is not confirmation enough?" Isis asked, tone not changing but voice sounding sharper.

"I meant no disrespect," she tilted her head in deference, "Do the others know you are here?"

"I make no secrets of my whereabouts or intentions," Isis deigned to answer the query of the powerful mortal before her.

"Do the regents know you are here?" There was an explicit hierarchy that was rarely ever bypassed.

"I need not their permission to do as I please, child," the goddess' eyes flashed fire.

Nodding in implicit understanding, Mrs. Frederic stated the obvious, "It has been centuries since the gods have interfered with human affairs."

"It has been centuries since a single mortal has threatened the entire world," Isis' voice seemed to fill the whole room.

Mrs. Frederic almost corrected the goddess. The world had been threatened many times over throughout the last few centuries. Then, realization dawned. "You mean to say," she was trying to grasp the enormity of the situation, "Earth itself is threatened, not just its inhabitants."

The goddess nodded once, "It has become a matter that begs our attention."

"Who could possibly wield that much power?" The caretaker wondered.

Looking down at the string of pale light pulled taught against Myka's sternum, Isis lowered a long finger and plucked the light- the vibrations causing a beautiful sound to fill the room, "She draws nearer every minute." The goddess cocked her head slightly as if listening to something. Straightening, she raised her hand and waived it in dismissal at Mrs. Frederic, "You are needed downstairs."

Before Mrs. Frederic could acknowledge the dismissal she was materializing in the living room. She let the immediate burst of anger at being _sent_ anywhere flow through her, but quickly staunched it. Putting as much professionalism in her voice as she could, she addressed the two figures in the room, "I believe we need to talk."

* * *

><p>Hand slipping into Myka's larger one, Helena tugged the young man into a door he had somehow missed seeing in the downpour. Shaking off the excess water, Myka finally got a good look around. "Do you frequent pubs, Ms. Wells?"<p>

"Only on the occasional downpour, Mr. Bering," Helena replied with a smile.

"So, that's a yes, then," Myka's amused green eyes caught sparkling brown.

"London does tend to have unpredictable weather," Helena retorted smile coming through her tone as she detoured to the bar to pick up two glasses of what looked to be ale before leading them to a secluded table in the back corner to afford them some privacy.

The duo drank their ale in silence for a moment, each sizing the other up. Helena's eyes roaming the figure before her with far more curiosity and interest than was strictly warranted by a stranger. Myka gulped down a large swallow of the alcohol trying not to fidget under the intense scrutiny. While not as intense as the perusals Myka was accustomed to by Helena's gaze, the open interest in those brown eyes was unsettling. It made Myka want to answer every question she could see forming in Helena's lovely head.

"Mr. Bering," Helena began, "you are American. How is it that you know about the Warehouse?"

_So the inquisition begins anew_, Myka thought tiredly, though she had to admit Helena's ingenuity at asking the same questions in so many different ways. Hand automatically reaching for a lock of hair to twirl between her fingers as she thought, the young woman's fingers stumbled on air before proceeding higher to dark curls much closer to her head (though lengthening through process of time). Worrying her bottom lip, she contemplated a roundabout way of answering until a throat clearing across from her prompted a response, "Well, the same as everyone else who knows about it, I suppose: direct upending of life as you know by the powers that be."

An arched eyebrow told her that was unsatisfactory answer. "Will I ever get a direct answer to any of my queries?"

"Yes," Myka answered the question directly without hesitation, hiding a smirk behind a drink of ale.

"That is not the directness I was hoping for," Helena shook her head good naturedly and dropped the subject. "Perhaps, you will be more forthcoming about topics of a less tentative nature?"

Myka shrugged but nodded her head at Helena inviting her to sate her curiosity.

"Tell me about yourself," the woman said leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs under the table.

"How is that a safer topic, exactly?" Myka leaned forward resting her elbows on the table.

"You don't have to talk about how you are connected to the Warehouse," Helena tapped a finger to her cheek, "you can tell me simple things: where you grew up, what you enjoy doing, who you associate with, and such."

"I like to read," Myka said the safest thing she could think of, though she cringed at how lame it sounded once she said it.

"A man with a mind," Helena sounded impressed, "what an oddity."

"You, Helena, are the true wonder in this case," Myka laughed, "Such a forthright woman," _in the 19__th__ century _she left unsaid.

"Does it bother you?"Helena asked as nonchalantly as if asking about the weather and not about her rebellion against the established system she was born into. Myka saw the mettle and the steel that seemed an inherent quality in the woman outshine any hesitation.

Without thinking in her desire to reassure this amazing woman who was fearless in the face of opposition, Myka reached her hand to envelop Helena's. "It would bother me if you felt the need to hide such a brilliant mind from me because of a diametrically erroneous world mindset," her thumb rubbed unconscious circles on the woman's skin, "you don't ever have to hide yourself from me."

Helena was deeply touched by the words, and the utter sincerity with which they were said. She turned her hand palm to palm in Myka's larger one and squeezed gently. "I feel a kinship with you, Myka. I do not understand its origins," she said into the ensuing comfortable lull, she seemed as surprised as Myka at the words, "It feels natural." Dark eyes darted around the pub before looking directly into Myka's beautiful green eyes, "And, that is a bit unnatural wouldn't you say?"

"Why are you telling me this?" Helena's hand felt warm in hers, she swallowed at the insistent tugging of her heart to show the woman she loved affection.

"Perhaps you are bewitching me," the inventor replied, sounding honestly bewildered.

"Or, perhaps it is you bewitching me," Myka squeezed the hand clasped in hers before pulling away. She felt a familiarity with Helena that she knew was dangerous; it would only lead to trouble if she let herself be enthralled by the realness of this woman. She drained the last of her ale, dropping to the cup to the table with a heavy thump, "I think the storm has passed."

Helena stood and moved around to Myka's side of the table. Smiling down, she extended her hand, "Shall we continue then, Mr. Bering?"

Smiling reflexively, she took the soft in hers and stood, "Lead the way, Ms. Wells."

* * *

><p>Helena watched with barely concealed disgust as Pete shoved everything into his mouth at once.<p>

"You're a really good storyteller, you know that?" Pete said through a mouthful of what looked to be chili cheese fries.

"You don't say," Helena replied acerbically, glaring as chili dripped from the end of the fry he had dangling much too close to her turkey on rye. "You realize, I have written several books in my lifetime," she said while moving her plate out of his messy reach.

"I read some of them, too," he munched thoughtfully on his fry, "you're pretty good at that, as well."

Humming noncommittally, Helena wondered at how the man's mind worked. Not interested enough at the moment for psychoanalytical thought, she resumed eating. The faster they ate and got back on the road, the faster she could get back to Myka. She felt a desperate need to be close to the young woman; her heart ached at the distance. She unconsciously lifted a hand to rub her sternum, right below where her necklace rested.

"But," Pete stressed, popping more fries in his mouth, "just because you're a good writer doesn't necessarily mean you're a good storyteller. Take Myka for example," he was again pointing a dripping fry in her direction, "she reads and knows enough about English that she's more than a passable writer, but she's a pretty crappy storyteller."

"Do explain this evidently important distinction between good writers versus good storytellers, Peter," Helena did not attempt to hide her disinterest, "I am most certainly dying to know."

"Remind me again," Pete narrowed his eyes at Helena, seeming to actually contemplate something, "how you wooed Myka?"

Chin tilting up as a hand smoothly swept the hair from her face, Helena smirked, "I simply walked into the room."

Unable to help himself, Pete laughed at the bloated arrogance of the woman, "It's a good thing your considerable charm was not required."

Taking a bite of her sandwich, she chewed slowly, leveling a tempered gaze at the man across from her, "I do believe my mouth was rather occupied with things other than witty repartee."

Shaking his head back and forth, Pete held both hands up, "So, definitely, not going there." Smiling around another bite of her sandwich, Helena's eyes flashed in amusement at having figured out the quickest way to quiet Pete down.

"Anyway," Pete picked up right where he originally left off, "as I was saying." Helena rolled her eyes; the silences were always so short lived. "You remind me of my mom."

"I do not recall talking about your mother," Helena was thinking of the quickest way to end this conversation, "And, even if we had been talking of your mother, I cannot think of a single thing we would have in common."

"You're both good storytellers," Pete said exasperated at having to explain everything to the writer.

"Yes," Helena muttered, giving up and humoring the overgrown boy, "of course."

"The reason you're both good storytellers," he said around his last fry, "is that you're such good liars."

"I don't think your mother would appreciate that assessment," the inventor supplied drolly.

He waved off the remark. "I don't mean that in a strictly negative sense," he qualified. "Maybe it's a skill all mothers have to learn," he said shrugging, "half-truth telling and subterfuge to protect their kids from knowledge of things too big for them."

Begrudgingly, Helena agreed, "Perhaps." Her esteem for the quirky man was increasing despite herself; he was remarkably insightful, although he had the oddest way of expressing it.

"And that's why Myka is such a terrible storyteller," he was coming full circle on whatever point he was making, "because she's not a very good liar. She can hedge and stonewall with the best of them, but she doesn't have a very refined ability to outright lie."

"Did you have a point to make in all this, Peter?" Helena prompted when the agent stopped talking.

"My point is," Pete moved his empty plate aside and leaned forward, his eyes holding Helena's, "if our Myka is the same Myka that was," he scrunched his eyebrows, "is," he shook his head, "back in the 19th century, which I'm pretty certain from what you've said that they are one and the same, then she wouldn't have, couldn't have, kept her heart hidden from you for very long."

"She did make a valiant effort to hedge, sidestep and avoid me for the first few weeks," Helena recalled, "but, as I said before, that quickly went to the wayside when we were partnered up."

"This story sounds like it's going to get a lot more complicated," sympathy seeped through his tone his eyes softened at the pain always present in the inventor's eyes, "and a lot bleaker."

Helena looked away unable to bear the compassion in Pete's eyes. "You have no idea," she said softly to no one in particular.

* * *

><p>"You've got to be kidding me," the deep voice stopped Helena from entering the doorway. Turning around she noted the young man staring at the plaque inscribed with the address of the building. "Is this even supposed to exist?"<p>

"No," Helena answered surmising Myka's line of thought, "but it was a happy coincidence that Doyle chose to make Holmes our neighbor."

"I'm starting to lose my belief in coincidences," Myka muttered walking into a nondescript building on 221A Baker Street. Following Helena up a winding staircase to a cluttered work space, the first thing that assaulted Myka's senses was the subtle scent of apples. She stopped and took it in. It reminded her of standing at the edge of an orchard, the wind lazily lifting the scent of fresh apples and leaves to her nose. It was comforting; like coming home.

Catching up to Helena, Myka opened her mouth to ask if the inventor smelled the same thing when the air in her lungs exited her mouth in a sudden rush as a large hand clapped her hard on the back. "Bering," boomed the loud, gruff voice behind her, "good to see you recovered and on your feet."

"MacShane," Myka squeaked out, gasping lightly for air, "good to see you, too." She rubbed her aching chest at the friendly gesture from the overenthusiastic man. Turning a genuine smile at the man, Myka clapped him on the back none too gently in return. He let out a loud bark of laughter.

Helena smiled but shook her head in confusion, "Men."

Caturanga slipped in silently sending a tense stillnesss through the room without opening his mouth. The three of them straightened and turned to him.

"Young man, follow me," Caturanga commanded.

Myka stood stalk still, not moving until MacShane shoved her in the caretaker's direction, "That means you, mate."

Shaking legs led Myka in the white haired man's direction. Anxiousness twisted her stomach in tight knots. The older gentleman looked nice enough, but he freaked her out in an I-can-annihilate-you-with-a-thought-if-you-displease-me sort of way, kind of like Mrs. Frederic did.

"Close the door behind you," Myka turned to obey, Adam's apple bobbing up and down before she turned back around.

"Sit," though his tone was soft, warm even, everything he said sounded like a command, so she obediently did as she was told. "Tea?"

Myka would have preferred coffee but she nodded and accepted a cup of tea. She was developing quite a liking to the drink. Sipping lightly at the hot liquid, she stared at Caturanga who had seated himself across from her. And, Caturanga stared at her. It was an uncomfortable silence, but Myka did not flinch from the scrutiny.

"Who are you?" the man's dark eyes narrowed on her as if he could not decipher exactly what he was looking at.

"Myka Bering," she replied honestly, innately knowing he would be able to detect a lie.

"Yes," Caturanga nodded slowly, putting his tea down and leaning forward elbows resting on his knees and his chin dropping onto his clasped hands, "but who is Myka Bering?"

"I can't say," Myka hedged, setting her cup aside and mimicking Caturanga's pose. She jerked forwards, barely catching herself, when the man grabbed her right hand exposing her wrist. "Hey," she immediately protested, trying to pull her hand out of an entirely disproportionate firm grip for a man as small as the caretaker.

Caturnaga's eyes locked on the tattoo, his index finger tracing it lightly. Myka grit her teeth at the burning sensation the touch caused and in irritation at the man's intrusion of her person.

"Did you kill this young man?" His grip tightened around her wrist.

"No," she expelled through gritted teeth, anger now bubbling up in her chest, "now let go of me."

He finally released her. She rubbed her aching wrist; the skin under the tattoo where Caturanga had rubbed pulsed unpleasantly. Her green eyes bored into the caretaker and he stared just as hard right back at her.

"How did you end up in this body?" He demanded.

"How do you know this isn't my body?" Myka asked evenly.

"You don't fit," he gestured to her chest with his hands, "you don't match up." He leant back and studied the young man before him. "You are from the future," he stated completely certain.

Myka gaped. She normally had an exceptional poker face, but she was wearing a face that was not hers so the statement caused shock to show over her features before she could school the new face into a neutral mask.

"I see you have not had enough time to mask your feelings on the face you are now wearing," Caturanga remarked.

Myka quickly tried to mask her slip, "I'm just shocked you think something so ridiculous."

Caturanga looked at the young man with both brows raised, "You are a terrible liar."

Running her hands through her short hair in frustration, she bowed her head, "Yeah, I've been told." After a moment, she looked up at him, "You understand I can't tell you much. I don't know what has the possibility to change the natural course of history."

"But you must tell me enough," the caretaker stood and quickly made his way to his desk. Myka felt compelled to follow. Finding what he was looking for, Caturanga passed the young man a leather bound notebook flipped open to a particular page.

Myka traced the carefully drawn feather on the page remembering the weight and feel of the very object that had brought her to where she stood. "Is that the object you touched?" Caturanga's voice seemed to be coming from far away. He touched her on the arm to get her attention.

"Yes," she said still staring at the feather. She was so engrossed in the drawing that she missed the grim look that crossed Caturanga's face.

"You will need to do some leg work if we are to get you back, or forward, as the case may be, " the caretaker was already moving about the office consulting maps and books, "I shall have you and Helena do the retrievals."

That snapped Myka back to the present, "What do you mean, me and Helena? And, you're just going to send me on Warehouse business? No test or trial required?"

Dark eyes snapped back to her, "That feather you touched categorizes people as either angels or devils, in a manner of speaking," he turned back to his research, "taking into consideration your ability at deception and the fact that you exude trustworthiness, I am confident in my decision to allow you to find a way home."

Myka stood dumbfounded, "Thank you."

Caturanga turned to her several papers in hand, "Now there's just the detail of how you happen to know Helena."


End file.
